Let's Do Some Majik
by LangstromHevoret
Summary: It's 19 Years Later and the world has moved on from the dark years and Voldemort's reign, but, like all wars, the refuse remains long after the ashes have been swept away. Astrid Langstrom is an Orphan Deathling (child of a Death Eater), given the charge of first year Vincent Hevoret. Together they must battle prejudices whilst finding a way to fund their education. Majik anyone?
1. Chapter 1

Autumn has definitely started. This year it was sudden, which is good in some ways, bad in others. Good because the last few weeks of summer weren't ruined by the increasing cold and damp that always hailed the end of summer at the Orphanage. Bad, because that increasing cold and damp always brought with it the excitement of a new term and the promise of escape. September the first crept up on me a bit this morning, and leapt out at me fully formed, bright, and chilly.

Not that i'm complaining, the first of September could never be a bad day for me, though it does cause some interesting complications for business. I turn around and Vincent is trailing at least four steps behind me, dragging his trunk. Poor kid, he's a strange shade of gray and I can't help grinning at the sight. Like all of us Deathlings, he's starting school with a lighter trunk than most kids, but he still struggles to drag it along. He's starved, that's why. Starved of affection, starved of respect, and literally starved because he's growing and portion sizes are strictly controlled at the Orphanage.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, Vincent." I say, as I wait for him to catch me up. He's sweating a bit and can't catch his breath to reply to me so settles for an evil glare. I laugh. "Plenty of people will give us the evil eye where we're going, so I don't need that from you."

We continue, but I slacken my pace. He's a lost cause as it is, but I'll at least allow him the dignity of having enough energy to go down fighting. King's Cross is dead ahead and other families with trunks begin to appear through the crowds. There they all are. Mothers, fathers, often both, with chattering, well fed, kids in tow. What's Vincent got to compare to that? Me? Just like I had my mentor, and he wasn't exactly sympathetic. I grimace at the memory of my first day and decide to make an effort.

"Ok, Vincent, let's take a breather before we go in."

"I'm fine." He wheezes back at me.

"I know, I just want to make sure you'll be cool with these brats. They're all idiots at the start, but you don't know which ones you'll end up with and you don't want to go making un-necessary enemies before you're even Sorted..."

As I said all this, his pale gray eyes were boring into mine, so that by the time I finished I squirmed a little. His eyes are creepy. Proper Deathling eyes. I'm lucky because I look pretty normal, brown hair, brown eyes, average height, and i've been able to buy myself some decent clothes this summer because business has been booming. Next to me, young Vincent has Deathling written all over him. Pointed, pale face, black hair, angry eyebrows - you know what I mean by angry eyebrows - and these large eyes that have dark blue around the edges with such pale gray irises he looks like he's wearing contacts. I'm not kidding.

So here I am outside Kings Cross Station, trying hard to be motherly to this angry Deathling child, when i've never even had a mother myself, and who decides to walk past at that very moment? Only Mr. H. Potter himself, with his brood. This chattering, happy, lively scene wanders right past us while i'm trying to tell young Vincent not to do anything stupid, and words fail me.

"Just keep cool, Vincent." I snap, as his eyes track their progress through the station. "It's not their fault they were born on the right side." He gives one jerk of a nod, but doesn't even blink as he gazes in their direction.

We continue walking, slowly approaching the spot where those who know what they're looking for can see people disappear. Vincent knows what to do, I saw him spying this time last year. Orphans under school age aren't supposed to come near the station on September the first, there were a couple of cases of kids stowing away on board the train, so it was stopped. Vincent, however, has about as much regard for rules as a seasoned criminal twice his age, and a complimentary lack of self-preservation. He simply doesn't care if people assume the worst of him, and he'll never give them a reason to change their minds.

Don't get me wrong, I respect his defiance, but in my line of work one can't afford to have mavericks around, and I want to do what I can for the kid.

So we approach the solid wall between platforms nine and ten. I resist the urge to stop and attempt another pep-talk, and allow Vincent the dignity of not breaking step with me as we casually march through on to platform nine and three quarters. His face is a mask as he observes the scene.

There are some interesting specimens starting this year by the looks of things. The second Potter boy and the first Weasley girl - I notice that lot all huddled together in the steam as we walk along in search of a compartment. Another famous figure looms ahead, Draco Malfoy. Of course everyone knows what he looks like, but i've not seen him on this platform before, and that right next to him can only be his offspring. Small, blonde, and immaculately turned out, Malfoy junior looks exactly the kind of pampered prat Hogwarts needs. I suppress a snort as we stop next to a compartment that looks empty.

"Do you want to ride with me, or are you willing to go it alone?"

Vincent turns to face me looking surprised, "You're not kicking me out?"

"No, Vincent, I'm not. It doesn't bother me if you're in my compartment, and it won't hurt you to meet some of my friends."

He shrugs. "Makes sense. Am I supposed to network?"

"No, you're just supposed to refrain from being a little sh*t. I'm breaking you in by degrees."

He actually cracks a grin at this and we heft our trunks onto the train. We sit in silence for a bit, watching parents coddling their young. Occasionally a couple of Orphanage kids walk by, some with first years in tow, some just paired up for the journey. The Orphanage lets us out in twos on September the first in order to stop suspicious crowding, and young kids are paired up with older mentors early in the summer. This supposedly promotes family-like bonds, what it actually does is palm off the job of counsellor and guardian onto older kids.

Despite the poorly disguised delegation we do try to make it work. James, my mentor, is like an older brother to me. He left Hogwarts when I went into third year, but we've always stayed in touch. I glance at Vincent and he says, "What house do you think I should try for?"

"It's not exactly something you get much choice over."

"What if I end up in Slytherin?"

"Then you'll have the honour of being a walking, talking cliche. Do you know what your parents were?"

He shakes his head. Vincent was born in Azkaban and his mother still rots there. Through delicate interrogation I learnt that his father was killed in a drunken duel six months before his mother was arrested. They were both part of Tink Ansgar's faction of Death Eaters who continued to promote Voldemort's ideas after he was destroyed. So were my parents. Some people are so stupid they won't recognise defeat even when their 'glorious leader' is a smoking pile of ash and the rest of the world is rejoicing.

There's a knock at our compartment door, I turn and see Eva Selby standing in the doorway her straight blonde hair pulled over one shoulder. "Hi Astrid, good summer?"

"Distinctly average." I reply as somewhere outside a shrill whistle sounds and there's a flurry of movement on the platform. "Sit down?" Eva slouches into the compartment and folds herself sideways on the seat with her legs up in front of her.

"Been working hard?"

"As always." I grin. Eva is constantly trying to trick me into revealing what I do to fund myself through school. Luckily there's still a huge stigma attached to doing muggle work, so she suspects that I labour in a shop somewhere for hours on end. Of course I don't, but i'm not going to tell her that. She has her suspicions and that's more than enough for now.

"Who's this?" She nods towards Vincent.

"My apprentice. Eva Selby, meet Vincent Hevoret."

"That's quite some name." She smiles at him and he glowers back. "And what's his apprenticeship in?"

I smile at her smooth interrogative style, "Learning how to behave." She laughs at this. Eva is one of those girls who's brilliant, friendly, privileged, and not at all judgmental. I say privileged but, to us Deathlings, all that means is having both parents around, neither of whom were Death Eaters. I met Eva at the Ravenclaw table at the start of term feast in first year, and when she found out what I was she didn't ask too many questions, so we became friends. Not best friends, there's too much in my world that she doesn't understand for that, but we have a mutual appreciation. Her best friend, and my friend, is Beth Martin.

Thinking of her I ask, "Have you seen Beth yet?"

She rolls her eyes and responds, "Oh yes, I said 'hi' but I felt like I was intruding."

"Ralph?" She nods. Ralph Andrews is one of my oldest friends because we grew up together at the Orphanage. Thus far we appear very similar, but he has it better than me because he's a LongLove child. LongLove children qualify for a charitable fund that pays for their education, and they qualify because their parents were the victims of Death Eaters and not Death Eaters themselves. This fund covers all Orphans, including but not limited to those who have to live in an Orphanage.

Last year, for my sins, I'd been coerced into getting Ralph together with Beth, and as a punishment I'd been treated to in depth descriptions of their mutual devotion throughout the summer. Ralph kept invading my room to drape himself across my bed and read aloud sections of her letters to him, and i'd been sent letters from Beth that performed roughly the same function.

Chatting to Eva takes concentration at first, but eventually I settle into the rhythm that will dominate the year, the rhythm of meaningless small talk.


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting with Astrid on the train is an eye opener. I pretend to be reading my potions book while listening to her conversations. This girl, Eva, is tall and blonde and reminds me of a poster I saw on one of the older boys walls at the Orphanage. So I listen and, I admit it, I learn. When she's in business-mode, Astrid's pretty intimidating. At the Orphanage she's always distant, with the assumed authority and mystery that comes with criminal activity. I mean, James Haggard was her mentor, and he's a legend to us.

James C. Haggard is this Deathling guy who started pushing potions to fund his way through school. It's pretty risky, because things can go wrong. I mean, if you mix a potion yourself and take it, and you grow an extra face or die, then it's your own fault. If you buy a potion and it goes wrong, who gets the blame? Some magical people can't brew for sh*t though, so they rely on pushers to get their fix, or poison, or whatever it is they want. The thing is that Haggard started pushing to Muggles, which is highly illegal but very lucrative. They don't know what they're swallowing, they just know it feels good, and J.C. has some pretty nice patented recipes that are just enough to send you sailing, without sending you literally sailing - if you know what I mean.

Anyway, Astrid started working under him just before starting her first year, and when he left, the in-school business went to a fifth year guy called Ollie Mason, who left this year, and now Astrid's head of the game. The only reason I know all of this is because she's my mentor and instantly drafted me into production. There's a nice little loop hole in magical detection measures that mean that underage wand-work can be traced, but mixing potions is like cookery so I had a free reign. Before I was her 'ward', I knew nothing, people talked, rumours flew around - many of them turned out to be total sh*te - Astrid encourages the mystique, she says the more people think they know the less they actually do know, and that's an advantage.

I know what you're thinking, and yes, I do get to try some. Not much, and only with Astrid's permission and supervision. She says it's valuable for me to know the stuff. I begged her to let me take a shot of Felix Felicis this morning, I want to guarantee I get Sorted right, but she refused point blank. She said Sorting's not that important and that I shouldn't get to be a Felix junkee before i'm twenty. She's pretty awesome, but right now, she seems almost ordinary. This must be the 'cool' thing she told me about. I don't know if this Eva knows what she does, there's definitely some understanding between them, but I can't start shooting my mouth off about business unless Astrid does.

The anxiety around Sorting is due to my societal sub-culture. As a Deathling people make certain assumptions about my character and my future. Normally I wouldn't care, but I do care about proving people wrong, and if I'm a Slytherin then all those assumptions will be proven correct in their eyes. James Haggard was a Gryffindor, but then his parents weren't really Death Eaters, it was just a c*ck-up. Astrid is in Ravenclaw, because she's brilliant, but loads of us end up in Slytherin to the point that Slytherin is like an extension of the Orphanage. They say it goes in families.

The only thing I know about my parents is that they were idiots.

The compartment door slides open and Ralph Andrews walks in followed by a small girl with short, dark hair. Ralph Andrews is someone I know from sight but have never really spoken to. He's this hulking Beater who plays Quidditch for the Gryffindor team. This summer the Daily Prophet ran a feature on him as an up and coming star, and they really played on the fact that he's an Orphan dependent on the LongLove trust just to stay in education. Thanks to his story the trust practically doubled its money through donations. What's kind of sick is that Tony Cartwright, this sixth year Orphan kid, is the best Keeper Hogwarts has ever seen and has just been made Captain of the Slytherin team, but he's a Deathling so the Prophet wouldn't feature him.

I hear my name and look up, "Vincent's my kid, who did you get?" Astrid says to Ralph.

"Nadine Barnes." He replies, while watching his fingers run through Beth's hair.

"And where is she?"

He shrugs, "Somewhere. She's on board, I know that." And Astrid looks really annoyed at this because she's a control freak and doesn't like it when people don't take their work seriously. I grin into my book. Then she turns to me and I have to suck my cheeks in so quickly it hurts a bit.

"Vincent, you know Nadine, do you think you could go and see if she's ok?"

I feel a bit uncomfortable about this, Nadine and I have never been that friendly. She doesn't talk much. Having said that, this is the first thing Astrid's asked me to do for her that doesn't involve grinding ingredients until my wrists hurt, so I close my book. It's quiet in the compartment, Eva and Astrid watch me leave in silence, while Ralph and Beth make squelching noises into each other's faces and I refuse to look. Just as i'm about to pull the compartment door open Astrid grabs my sleeve and shoves a bunch of sickles into my hand.

"In case you run into the food trolly. Get yourself some lunch."

Outside in the corridor it's pretty busy, kids run up and down, groups of people cluster in the doorways of already-full compartments, and I don't really know how i'm supposed to find little Nadine Barnes in this lot. Still, orders are orders, so I start my search. The compartments are full to bursting, some kids are still in normal clothes and some have changed into their school robes. I think about going back and getting changed. I might blend in better in my robes, even if they are a bit worn. But then I think of Astrid. She'd know why I was changing and she'd know I care, and frankly i'd rather eat porcupine quills than get her sympathetic face.

I walk along the train getting buffeted by the crowds as I go, and as I reach the middle where the crowds are thickest the occupants of one compartment catch my eye. There's a familiar boy with dark untidy hair standing on one of the seats holding another boy by the throat with his wand pointing in his face. As I watch he says something I don't understand and theatrically throws the boy away from him before collapsing onto the seat. Everyone is laughing and he is doubled up in hysterics. I breath out, it hadn't been a real fight, though for a moment I was sure it was. Then I see her, Nadine is sitting at the end of the compartment, gazing out at the gray rain that's dribbling down the window. Without thinking, I reach out my hand and knock.

Still-smiling faces turn towards the door, but when they see me these quickly turn into frowns. I fumble slightly with the catch on the door, finally get it open and stick my head inside.

"Can we help you?" Says the familiar dark haired boy, his wand is still out and he's twirling it like a baton between his long fingers.

"Erm, no." I say, looking right past him. "Nadine?"

Her little face snaps around and she sees me. There's a split second pause and then she scrabbles up and starts gathering her things. The boy, who was watching, snorts and turns back to me. "Orphans are you?" I look at him properly in the eye and he starts a little as I inwardly smirk. These eyes have their uses.

"No." I say. It's mostly true as my mother is still alive, i've just never seen her before.

Nadine scrambles past me into the corridor and I slide the compartment door shut with a click. All eyes remain on us as we make our way further along the train, but I refuse to look.

"Hello, Vincent." Nadine almost whispers.

"Hi. Are you ok?" She nods. "Did those boys bother you?" She shakes her head.

"It was just loud."

We carry on, and as we go the compartments get quieter.

"Do you know who that boy's father is?" She said after some time.

I nod. "We saw them outside Kings Cross."

Eventually we find a compartment with only one occupant and we go inside.

"Where are your things?" She asks.

"I left them with Astrid." I say, glancing at the boy who's sitting much like Nadine was, next to the window, gazing at the rain. As I look at him he turns around.

"Are you first years too?" He has dark hair and green eyes and doesn't seem overly confident. I nod. He smiles, "I'm Al."

"I'm Vincent, this is Nadine." I reply. I suddenly realize that us first years are all in the same boat, all terrified and shy, so being 'cool' with someone like Al would be easier than it had been to not say anything to the Potter kid back along the train.

"Do you know what house you'll be in?" He asks, he looks genuinely concerned. We both shake our heads. "Would you hate it if you're in Slytherin?"

Nadine nods and I look away, she's a LongLove child so I have to ask, "What house were your parents in?"

"My father was in Hufflepuff, and my mother was a muggle."

"You're an Orphan?" Al suddenly looks uncomfortable, like he's missed a beat somewhere. Nadine nods. "I'm sorry." He turns to me next. "You... knew each other before?"

He's trying to be tactful, I can tell. I appreciate the attempt but he's starting to squirm and I feel a bit sorry for him.

"We're at the same Orphanage together."

At that moment there's a clatter in the corridor and the compartment door slides open to reveal a young witch with spiky blue hair and a nose piercing. "Anything from the trolly?"

Al immediately jumps up and starts rummaging in his trunk. I pull out the silver Astrid gave me and glance at Nadine. "You got anything?" She nods once. Thanks to Ralph's charismatic tragedy all LongLove children were given eight sickles for the train. We quickly pool some money and buy some pumpkin pasties, chocolate frogs, licorice wands, and a jug of pumpkin juice. Al's getting quite animated at this stage and he starts talking about all the chocolate frog cards he's got. "Have you got any you'd be willing to swap?" He finally finishes and takes a huge bite of a pasty.

"I don't have any yet." I admit.

"Why?" He looks a bit stunned.

"The Orphanage is in a muggle area, so we don't get much magical stuff. Older kids get to go to Diagon Alley with special permissions, but otherwise we're stuck in this muggle neighbourhood."

"Did you go to a muggle school?"

We nod. Until the beginning of summer I and the other new first years had attended the Bruce Grove school in Tottenham. This isn't just an Orphan thing, there's a move across the magical community to get kids from magical families into muggle schools until they're of Hogwarts age. It's supposed to encourage cross-community understanding. Some magical families have been really up for it, but most still see it as a degradation.

But then Al says "me too", and i'm surprised but happy.

"Did you ever let anything slip?" I ask.

"Sometimes I said 'muggle', but that just slips out and I couldn't help it."

We spend the rest of the time talking about school incidents, weird things we made happen by accident, things we said and we shouldn't have, and playing snap. I have this set of muggle cards that Al thinks are wicked, and then he brings out his exploding snap set and things really get loud. Time slips by and the lights come on as Orphan-life becomes past, and Hogwarts life becomes present-future.


	3. Chapter 3

I wasn't sure i'd done the right thing sending Vincent off, and now it's dark outside and the lights are coming on and he's still not back. Ralph and Beth are reading the Daily Prophet on the opposite seat and Eva's examining her new Charms book. I'm looking through Potions Weekly, and there's a feature on love potions, which we can't market because Weasley's Wizard Wheezes cover those and they're not considered dangerous enough to be made illegal. This always confused me as there's not much that's more dangerous to an individual than passionate and irrational love, but still, the ministry knows best. I roll my eyes and look out of the window.

"He's probably made some friends, you know." Eva says, not taking her eyes away from the illustrative effects of a complex but beautiful charm by the looks of the upsidown page.

I laugh, "Vincent? Friends? You obviously haven't known him too long."

"He's a first year. That's what they do. Stop worrying."

"I'm not worrying." She laughs out loud at me for this and I turn a page impatiently. "His stuff is here and he's going to have to change soon." We'd all changed about half an hour ago.

"You're such a mother hen." From across the compartment, Beth starts making clucking noises.

"If you say so. It's not like i'd know." That shuts them up.

I admit it, I'm concerned. But it's more to do with the fact that Vincent knows a lot about a lot of things and in a bid to make some friends he might feel tempted to impart some illicit knowledge. I just hope i've done enough to impress upon him just which side his bread is buttered.

"It does no good to coddle them, Astrid, you've got to give them a push and they'll thank you for it later." Ralph murmurs with his eyes closed.

"I'm just doing my job." I snap. The train's gone quiet now as people have settled for the last leg of the journey. From a distance i'm aware of someone running the length of the train. This noise gets closer and closer until all of a sudden the compartment door is flung open and there's the second Potter kid with his face all flushed, looking jubilant as he calls out, "I've won! I get Agrippa!" In a split second Vincent appears and then Nadine. A swift exchange of chocolate frog cards takes place in the doorway and then Vincent graces us with a glance.

Smooth as anything he says "Guys this is Eva, Beth, Ralph and Astrid. Everyone this is Al and Nadine. I've come for my robes, is that ok?"

I've never seen Vincent with colour in his cheeks before, and he looks almost normal! I nod, but there must be something in my face that makes him ask "what is it?"

"Nothing, Vincent, can I have a word with you in the corridor in a minute?"

"Yer, sure, Astrid." He says, reaching into his underpopulated trunk and hooking out a pair of robes that were black once upon a time, but have since settled on a shade of dusty charcoal. A few moments later he tells the others to go on ahead and turns to me in the silent passage. "What's up?"

"What have you told them?"

He looks surprised and flushes again but in a blotchy, heated, way. "Nothing."

"Really? Nothing?"

"Really, Astrid. What am I supposed to tell them?" Quick as a flash he's returned to the surly Deathling i'm used to dealing with.

"So you've told them nothing?"

"You made me swear, remember? You threatened to curse me!"

"And I will. Don't forget."

"I believe you. Though honestly a worse punishment would be if you don't give me any more KuKu..."

KuKu is one of James's creations that I let Vincent try. It's one of the things we market to Muggles that has roughly the effect of making you feel like you're walking through the galaxy with the visions to match. "That's not funny. But ok, if you're alright and you're sure."

"I'm sure."

There's a silence between us and I feel a bit bad. "Looking forward to Sorting?"

"We're all scared." He says to the wall. He's not looking at me anymore and i'm horribly aware that i've just reminded him of what he is.

"Good luck. I'm rooting for you."

"Sure, Astrid." He says, turning and slouching down the corridor and out of sight.

I'm left behind feeling a bit sheepish. How the hell has he made friends with Albus Potter? Of all the kids on this train? I shake myself a bit and push the compartment door open.

"Done lecturing him?" Ralph drawls.

"Yes." I reply, curtly. I sit down and re-open Potions Weekly at a random spot, but as the train approaches its destination I'm reminded of those business complications and my new promotion. James's operation of illegal brewing started out between Hogwarts and the Orphanage. During term time he directed production in this concealed dungeon that lies somewhere out under the lake. From there he ran a simple, but effective, mail order system of distributions. Clients would register interest, he'd send a small sample for them to try or examine, they'd send him money for a larger dose and he'd provide for their delicate needs. Muggle orders would arrive at the Hogsmead sorting office and be transferred to the school, and on Hogsmead weekends he'd package up the orders and send them all out. Since muggle schooling has become a thing we're encouraged to maintain contact with muggle pen pals, and James had a lot of pen pals.

When he left with his top grades and suspicious lack of debt, he handed school operations over to Ollie Mason who was just entering fifth year, while James continued to direct sales and product marketing from the outside. By the time we got back to school, however, the dungeon had been raided and rendered useless. Within two weeks Ollie set up shop in the Shrieking Shack and things carried on as normal. This was not a happy time, because orders were backing up and James couldn't return to the Orphanage and keep the brews going there, and some potions take a few weeks to get going. On the term time/holiday cross-over there's always a bit of stress to handle.

Ollie was meant to continue his role as director this year, but unfortunately he performed something of an exhibition during his sixth year exams and was expelled. I do happen to know why this is because I was laboring in the Shack every opportunity I had through third and fourth year. Ollie couldn't handle the pressure, you see, and his grades started slipping, so before every OWL he took a shot of Felix and got exceptional marks and the school gave him an award for high achievement. But Felix has a bit of a nasty effect if you take too much of it. Most people draw the line at three or four uses in a lifetime, but then sixth year exams came along and mid-way through his History of Magic examination, Ollie went pop.

Now I don't mean literally "pop", but he went insane alright. He pulled out his wand and started levitating all the desks, tried waltzing with Professor Clearwater, and then started drinking ink like it was whisky. After a short time in StMungo's he was released, but then everyone knew what he'd been taking and it was all over.

So I get an unexpected promotion and I await James's Owl at breakfast tomorrow to see what we've got to get underway. As long as the Shack is still accessible the transition should go smoothly, if not, i'll have to come up with new premises and that won't be fun. In the mean time my staff of twelve will be looking to me and i'll have to assert my authority.

The Hogwarts Express is slowing to a crawl and the lights of Hogsmead appear, glittering through the now clear night, with the turreted mass of Hogwarts perched high above. I sigh and put Potions Weekly back in my trunk and prepare to leave. Vincent's left his stuff on board so I grab both handles and our compartment empties.

"I hope the sorting doesn't take too long, I'm starving!" Ralph grimaces as he feels his stomach, and I get a twinge in mine feeling nervous for Vincent.

"As long as Professor Vector doesn't have any long announcements, I don't need any surprises tonight." I add.

"She keeps her long talks till after the feast." Said Ralph, stepping onto the platform and helping Beth with her trunk before leaving Eva and myself to struggle on our own.

"Typical!" Eva laughs as we haul our luggage away. I look around for Vincent but can't see him through the crowd of taller kids milling around on the platform. I see Professor Creevey though, the tall, lean Care of Magical Creatures teacher, wearing his weather-worn coat and long red scarf, carrying a large lantern.

"First years this way!" He calls over the many heads, as Eva and I move away to find a carriage.


	4. Chapter 4

I get off the train with Al and Nadine and see Astrid further along the platform. She's looking around for me but I don't wave, she just wants to check up on me and I don't need that. I tuck my wand up my sleeve and shiver a bit. Al is standing next to me, shaking slightly as he gazes around at all the students.

"First years this way!"

This deep voice calls through the crowds and we turn to see a tall man with sandy-blonde hair cutting through the crowd carrying a large lantern. He's wearing a long, thick coat, with a red scarf hanging around his neck. I turn again, but Astrid's out of sight.

"First years?" The man says again as Al tugs my sleeve and we move in his direction. A knot of about forty of us gathers together as the older students disappear. Nadine has become a shadow, always at my shoulder, never saying anything.

"My name's Professor Creevey, and I teach Care of Magical Creatures here at Hogwarts, which is why it's my job to get all of you magical creatures, up to the school in time for your Sorting. Are we all here?" He beams around at us all and we greet his words with a tense silence, which just makes him smile more. "There's no need to worry, grab a lantern and follow me!"

We each take a lantern from a pile by the fence and scramble after him as he strides away down a narrow path behind the station house. This path twists and turns, the recent rain made the path slippery and damp so that many people stumble and slide. Eventually, after what seems like an age, we emerge onto the rocky shore of an enormous lake and I stop dead, which is unwise because another kid walks straight into my back and I stagger forwards a few paces. But I couldn't help stopping. High on a cliff over the lake is Hogwarts. Actually Hogwarts. My entire life i've dreamed of this moment, of seeing this castle for the first time, of belonging here rather than there.

The water is so still that the thousands of candle-lit windows are reflected in its depths, and the stars in the clear sky seem to be a mere extension of the castle. I realise then that Professor Creevey is looking at our faces, which are all turned upwards in awe, with a massive teary grin on his face.

"No more than four to a boat, and don't worry, if you fall in there's a very helpful Giant Squid in this lake who'll hook you out again. Well, he did for me anyway!"

The tension breaks as everyone stumbles for a boat. I'm swiftly joined in mine by Al, Nadine, and a small red-haired boy who introduces himself as Rufus McLaggen, pompously shaking everyone's hand and making Nadine blush. After a pause, Professor Creevey calls "FORWARD!" and the boats move off. As we move silently across the lake the castle grows until I have to bend my neck backwards uncomfortably to see it all. Just as this is getting impossible Professor Creevey shouts, "Heads down!" as he disappears under a curtain of ivy that hangs over the lake concealing an underground cave.

We pass through into this rocky tunnel which twists and turns into darkness ahead. Minerals running in ribands through the rocks glitter in the light of the lanterns and eventually we come to an underground harbour. Getting out is difficult because we're all cold from the lake, but eventually we all assemble and Professor Creevey beckons the way up a stone passageway that leads out onto smooth grass in front of the castle, and up to a set of huge oak front doors. Here he stops and knocks three times. The doors swing open immediately to reveal a middle-aged wizard of middling height, immaculately dressed in gray pinstriped robes, his iron gray hair combed backwards from his forehead and a pair of odd little glasses clipped to the end of his nose. He's standing with his hands behind his back and a kindly smile on his face that feeds the intensely inquisitive gaze he casts over all of us from the top of the steps.

"The first years, Professor Augustin."

"Merci, Professor Creevey." He says in a gentile French accent. "I shall take them from here, you go into the 'all and warm yourself up. The lake, it was very cold, non?"

"A bit chilly, but no one's suffering with hypothermia tonight." Professor Creevey replies as we all file into an immense hallway. There are portraits covering every inch of the high stone walls and an ornate marble staircase leads upwards to the countless floors above. To the right of the doorway there stand four hourglasses, the top halves filled with coloured glass balls, green, red, blue, and gold.

"Zis way if you please boys and girls." Professor Augustin says and leads the way through a door to the left, opposite the double-doors through which we can hear a drone of voices. Inside, Professor Augustin stands before us with his hands behind his back once more, rocking on the balls of his feet as he speaks. "Velcome to 'Ogwarts, my name is Professor Augustin. In a short vile you shall be Sorted into your 'ouses, and dis is very important! Vile at 'Ogwarts your 'ouse common room is your 'ome and your fellow 'ouse members are your family. But dis is not so bad!" He smiles jovially around at our tense faces, "It vill not take long and den dere is a feast. So!" He claps his hands, "Prepare yourselves!"

He marches from the room and slowly chatter breaks out. I can't bring myself to talk so I just stand, feeling numb from head to foot. Rufus McLaggen is talking to Al just behind me, "I don't suppose any house would be too bad," McLaggen says, "even Slytherin's come a long way since the Last Battle, everyone says so. Of course _you'll_ know all about the Last Battle."

"Yes." Says Al, he's gone back to being nervous again and i'm not sure if it's because of McLaggen or because of the Sorting.

"I say, I think your father and my father knew each other..." He's about to say more, but at that moment Professor Augustin reappears.

"Zis way, if you please."

We all file out, cross the entrance hall and pass through the double doors into the other hall, now filled with expectant silence. This other hall is huge, bigger than the last, with four long tables that run the length of it, with another one at the top where all the teachers are sitting. I see Professor Creevey at the end of the table, he's taken his coat off and is wearing a thick green woolen jumper. Overhead candles float in mid air and above them the vaulted ceiling opens straight onto the sky. We approach the front of the hall and gather in a group at the bottom of three large stone steps, on top of which sits a small stool, and on that is the famous Sorting Hat. Everyone watches this legendary object, and after a couple of twitches a tear opens around its base and it begins to sing.

Hello to students new and old

This fine old school is yours

Its stood through ages strong and bold

Dividing into fours

New students who arrive here small

And scared of what's ahead

I'll find a house, there's one for all

Just place me on your head!

There have been battles long ago

In which I played my part,

And these have put me in the know,

Of what is in your heart,

So when I look inside your mind,

I see a clear bright spark,

That tells me who is brave or kind -

Qualities show their mark.

Though houses have their obvious traits

There's none to say who's best

Because we know not what awaits

Our future at this place.

In Gryffindor you might find friends,

In Hufflepuff your home,

On Ravenclaw your mind depends,

Never are you alone.

Slytherin house has made its name

In less than happy days

But new blood will out in Time's game

And now it's changed it's ways!

There will always be ambition

Between these stony walls,

But what's gained by competition

Is fuel that lights these halls!

I've not much time for idle talk

I've too much in my thread,

And what keeps me from going mad

Is the hope in your heads.

I place you all year in year out,

And every time I see,

What our future lives are about,

And that's enough for me!

It may go wrong in years to come,

I've seen it done before,

The growing discontentment comes

Splitting good friends and more.

So now as you work together,

I urge you to be wise,

Help the good to last forever

And through friendship we may rise!

At this everyone in the hall bursts into applause, and the hat bows its point to the four house tables in turn and then goes very still and ordinary-looking again. Professor Augustin approaches from the side of the table with a scroll of names in his hand and begins with: "Aine, Niomh." Everyone holds their breath and after a few seconds the hat shouts, "Ravenclaw!"


	5. Chapter 5

I can see Vincent and despite the Sorting Hat's song, I'm nervous for him. No matter what people say, there's still prejudice against Slytherin and there's prejudice against Deathlings, and as a combination those two things incite some pretty potent hate. I realise at this point that i've been fixating on this kid all day and that's not like me. During the holidays I didn't think much about him. Sure he was around, but i just went about teaching him the business, took him to Diagon Alley, and did the usual stuff.

Eva cranes her neck around beside me. "Where is he? I can't see him!"

"Why do you suddenly care?" I ask in surprise.

"Well, we've met him now, and it's a big deal! What if he ends up in Ravenclaw?"

I'd not even thought of that. Vincent, a Ravenclaw? He's so un-Ravenclaw it hurts, though i'd thought he could never make friends either and that turned out to be wrong. As Eva says the words, however, something inside me squirms into hope.

"Barnes, Nadine." Professor Augustin reads out, and tiny little Nadine staggers forward. She sits on the stool, visibly trembling from head to foot, and the Hat considers.

"Hufflepuff!" It shouts as the table on the right bursts into applause. Nadine looks relieved as she scuttles away to join her house-mates.

"Bentley, Louis." Bentley is tall for his age and moves forward with more confidence than Nadine, he must be a pure blood. The Hat considers for some time with him and then shouts "Slytherin!"

I turn to Eva and whisper furiously to her, trying to dissipate some nerves. "Vincent's the last Deathling at the Orphanage. There are only three starting this year, Nadine, Vincent, and this other kid called Reuel, and the others are LongLove kids. The thing is he's the last of the bad streaks, and I need him to be Sorted right. What chance does he stand otherwise?"

"Astrid!" Eva looks a bit surprised at my earnestness. "He'll be fine whatever happens. Slytherin isn't the house it used to be. Plus, he's got you!"

I grimace and turn back to watch. Reuel Grimshaw becomes a Ravenclaw and now, finally, "Hevoret, Vincent." His face turns as he sits down and it's back to the angry, defiant mask, which makes me smile. The Hat begins its deliberation.

"C'mon, Vincent." I murmer, and I can hear Eva saying the same as we hold our breath. The Hat's on his head by far the longest, to the point that Professor Augustin places his hands behind his back again as he waits. Professor Vector leans forward at the staff table, the candle light reflected in her round glasses, her eyebrows set in concentration. I can see Vincent's hands gripping the seat of the stool and his face is screwed up in concentration.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat bellows so loudly that Professor Augustin jumps backwards a few paces and Professor Vector starts. As the hat is lifted Vincent's face is still mask-like, but the Slytherin table are putting on a good welcome show. Tony Cartwright, the Quidditch captain and fellow Deathling, actually walks the length of the table to shake his hand.

I sigh. It's over. That's that then. Vincent has the honour of being a walking, talking cliche, and I fight the urge to march out of the hall, partly because it would be overly dramatic, but mostly because i'm so goddamned hungry. The Sorting proceeds quickly after that. Scorpius Malfoy joins Vincent as a Slytherin - no surprises there - the Potter kid becomes another Gryffindor, as does the Weasley girl, it's all so predictable. Finally Professor Augustin rolls up his parchment, takes the Hat and stool from the dais, and Professor Vector gets to her feet, wearing robes of deep purple.

"Welcome, students." She raises her hands outwards and smiles around at everyone. "We stand on the brink of yet another year at Hogwarts, a year I know will be challenging and inspirational to you all. In light of this I feel it is only right that we proceed with full stomachs, tuck in!"

Suddenly the bare tables are laden with food and immediate chatter breaks out across the hall. I immediately grab a spoon full from the nearest bowl of roast potatoes and then reach for a lamb chop, some pork and some crackling. After the monotonous food of the Orphanage I can't get enough, or at least that's what I think when I begin eating, but i'm full up a lot sooner than I want to be and look through the crowds to the other students. Nadine is one table across from me and I can see her talking to another first year i've already forgotten the name of. Everyone seems more relaxed now that the Sorting's over, or perhaps it's just me. I can see Vincent talking to Scorpius Malfoy, the backs of their two heads, one black one white blonde, inclined towards one another in conversation.

Presently the platters disappear and are replaced with sumptuous deserts. Despite my groaning stomach I slice into a rich, gooey chocolate pudding and re-fill my goblet with pumpkin juice. Beth is talking about this paper she wrote over the summer that's being published in Transfiguration Today. This is a pretty big deal for a pre-OWL student and she's really excited. I wonder if I should be doing the same kind of thing with Potions, and then I chuckle inwardly. My own specific knowledge centers on methods of intoxication and illegal performance enhancement, trying to edit my expertise into a politically correct report for Potions Weekly would be an unrealistic goal that would probably land me in Azkaban.

The desert dishes evaporate into nothing and Professor Vector gets to her feet. "A few start of term announcements before you hurry off to bed. All students should be aware that the Forbidden Forest is, by its very name, forbidden. Many creatures lurk there that are both dangerous and deadly, I advise you all, therefore, to steer clear. For those of you who are new to the school there are comprehensive lists of the school rules permanently attached to the notice boards in your common rooms, please acquaint yourselves with these at the first possible opportunity to avoid needless waste of house points. I advise the older students to do the same, especially in light of a discovery made during the summer. To my distress and amazement a second illegal brewing operation was uncovered in the Shrieking Shack in the second week of July. How long this operation was underway and what damage it is responsible for remains unclear, but I must impress upon you all the seriousness of this discovery. As an illegal operation those in charge, if and when they are discovered, will face a term in Azkaban. If anyone knows anything I urge you to come directly to myself."

I sit there, cold from head to foot, my face unmoving. Everyone in the hall is still, no one shifts or blinks, I can see several members of the operation from where i'm sitting and all of them know there's too much at stake to give anything away.

"But now it's late, you're all very tired, you're all well fed, and I can think of no reason to keep you from your beds. Goodnight!" Professor Vector finishes, with a smile on her angular old face.

The benches scrape backwards and I stagger to my feet. So this complicates matters. Tomorrow i'll be receiving a letter from James placing his orders for the next month, and I won't have anything to work with. I see Vincent up ahead in a line of first years and he's looking around for me.

"Vincent!" I shout, and he stops. Luckily, so does Lamar Digby, the Slytherin Prefect. "Hey, how you holding up?"

"Slytherin?" He says blankly, and grimaces.

"Slytherin's ok." I say with a smile. "You'll be great no matter where. I saw you talking to Malfoy."

"He's alright." He says with a shrug. "What about the other thing?"

"We'll work something out. Whatever it is it'll have to wait until tomorrow."

He smiles now, and it's the first time i've seen him properly smile, "the food was great."

"What did I tell you, eh?"

"Hevoret, if you don't mind?" Digby's getting impatient.

"Night, Vincent."

"Night, Astrid."

He turns stiffly and walks off towards the dungeons. I turn and join Eva on the staircase on the way up to the Ravenclaw common room. Up and up we climb and I know my legs will hurt in the morning. A couple of months of three-storey living and my muscles have disappeared. For all of that, though, the view is well worth it. The Ravenclaws occupy the second tallest tower of Hogwarts, the tallest being the astronomy tower, and the common room is at the very top. Through the door is a stone vestibule with an archway directly ahead which leads into the common room and a door directly on the left and another opposite it on the right. These doors lead to the girls and boys dormitories, which are below the common room, but for now Eva and I slouch through the archway and collapse into chairs on either side of the left-hand fireplace. Eva takes out her wand and waves it lazily at the nearest curtains, that leap aside to reveal a pair of graceful, arched, windows that reach almost to the vaulted ceiling high above. The night outside has cleared and the sky is velvety black and dotted with stars, much like the painted ceiling high above. This ceiling is the only other enchanted ceiling at Hogwarts, depending on the time of day the colour changes from watery topaz to bright cerulean to navy and gradually to velvety midnight. Now it's dark and the permanent gold-painted stars glint distantly in the light from the fireplace.

Despite myself I get up again and cross to the window. "Where's Beth, d'you reckon?" I ask, absent-mindedly. We're alone and the sound of chatter from the dormitories below echoes upwards.

"Probably saying goodnight to Ralph." Eva groans, stretching her feet towards the hearth. "Why do you think they close the curtains in here?" She went on, "everyone knows the best thing about Ravenclaw Tower is the view."

"Probably worried about losing heat." I answer without thinking.

"This is a school of Magic, if there's one thing we should be able to do it's stay warm in a castle."

With that, the eagles' musical voice sounds through the door. "Can one create something from nothing?"

"There is never _nothing_." Beth answers from the other side of the door, "there is always_ something_ even if _nothing_ is perceived."

"Correct." Sings the eagle, and the door swings open.


	6. Chapter 6

So after speaking to Astrid I'm feeling a bit better about things and as I rejoin the line Scorpius says, "who was that?"

"A friend." I reply. I told him earlier that I'm an Orphan, well, to tell the truth it was a bit difficult to hide it once Tony Cartwright had walked the length of the table to shake my hand. I have to admit though, it felt good. None of the other first years had their hand shaken by a house Quidditch captain, not even Al. I pretended I knew who he was as soon as I found out, but in all honesty, I hadn't twigged it, and now I feel a bit stupid. When they'd passed us at the station i'd been distracted by his brother, who was a lot louder than him. But to think I'd spent my journey to Hogwarts with Albus Potter and not even known it! Ha!

Anyway, Scorpius asks me some more questions about Astrid and I reply easily enough. He's ok, Scorpius, mostly because he's a Deathling too and gets the stigma. Louis Bentley, is a bit of a d*ck. He didn't expect to be made a Slytherin, apparently his father was a Gryffindor and his mother was a Ravenclaw, and he's all disappointed. Just goes to show that Slytherin is still considered a step down in the magical world, whatever people say. I know Astrid meant well, but I saw her going up the stairs and it just feels a bit obvious when everyone else has a common room at ground level or in a tower and the Slytherins are down in the dungeons. Lamar Digby, our Prefect, was telling us about the other houses at the feast, so I know roughly where they are and none of them are underground.

We're walking through stone passageways lined with burning torch brackets, which is pretty cool. I have to admit that i'd thought Hogwarts would have electricity. I know it's a castle and it's filled with Witches and Wizards, but the amount of magic it must take to keep this place ticking is insane, why not just wire it and have done? That's probably just my muggle exposure talking.

"Scorpius, did you go to a muggle school?" I'm suddenly interested.

"No, but I was home schooled." He says quickly. It sounds like he's self-conscious, which is weird.

"What, so you know magic already?" I think it must be great being brought up in a wizard family, but then his reply shocks me.

"No. I wasn't allowed."

"Not even potions?" I'm tap-dancing on the line here, but i'm carried away by curiosity.

"No. Why potions?"

"Oh no reason." I lie quickly. "I heard some older kids on the train talking about loop holes in magical law that mean they can mix potions without being detected. That's all."

"Oh, well, I never did that. I did have a broom-stick from the age of eight though."

"Wow, that must be so cool!" I say this, I'm actually terrified by the prospect of flying, but I won't admit it until I have to. We arrive outside a stretch of blank wall and Digby says, "This is the entrance to our common room. You will forget it. Most first years take about a month to be able to find it every time and we have to send out regular search parties around the dungeons. But that's better than leaving maps to our common room laying around. First years are always pretty easy to find because we just listen for the password being yelled at the wrong stretch of wall." Everyone laughs nervously at this. "The password is Grindylow." He finishes with a smile and at his word the stone quivers and slides sideways. We pass through into a long, low hall with rough stone walls and a slightly smoother low vaulted ceiling. It feels a bit like a crypt. Looking up I see that the angles of the ceiling meet at large, flat, shiny disks.

"They're windows." Scorpius says, he's still beside me. "My father's told me lots about this room. It's under the lake so that during the day the light shines green through the water."

For now the room is lit by two large ornately carved black marble fireplaces facing one another on either side of the room, and ornate iron lamps hanging between the ceiling windows that emit a clear green light. The effect is not unpleasant. Around each fireplace, and clustered around the edges of the room, are green leather armchairs and little spindly dark wood tables, while the center of the room is dominated by a long black marble table.

"This way now." Digby calls, and we all hurry around these things to the opposite end of the hall where there are two marble archways. In front of one of these stands a tall red-headed girl I recognise from the Orphanage but not as a regular resident. "This is Tryphaina Bell, girls follow her, boys, come with me."

There are five first year Slytherin girls, and four boys. We follow Digby along a corridor that bends to the right with seven doors leading away in different directions. Digby stops in front of the fourth door along, which is heavy oak with a sign on the front in polished silver that says 'first years'. "I leave you here. Get settled and sleep well, you'll need it." With that he turns and walks back along the curved passageway.

Malfoy turns the heavy silver handle, pushes it open, and we all go inside. There are four, four poster beds, in a square room, two against the left wall, two against the right. Each has deep green curtains and at the foot of each bed our trunks have been placed. In the opposite wall is another fireplace in a simple iron surround.

"So this is where I'm expected to live out my Hogwarts days?" Bentley says, as he slouches towards the bed on the far right. "In a dungeon."

"If this is a dungeon then I should get arrested more." I say, turning towards the bed on the immediate left and trying out the mattress. It's pretty soft.

"Well I suppose it beats the Orphanage." Bentley sneers in return. It's a cheap blow and it barely scratches.

"Yup, no fireplaces there and no four-poster beds either." I smile, stretching out.

"You're an Orphan?" The other boy asks. He didn't sit with us at the feast, but went straight along the table to sit with his sister. He's tall, taller than Bentley, with high, chiseled cheekbones and a haughty expression.

"Yup." I say. "Vincent Hevoret." We shake hands, he's got the bed next to mine.

"Blaise. Hector Blaise." He replies.

"Your father's Zabini Blaise." Malfoy says, coming forward to shake hands. "Our fathers were here together."

"Zabini?" Bentley asks, straightening up from his trunk. "That's a bit more exotic than Hector, how did that happen?"

"Hector was my mother's father, he died and she named me for him." Blaise replies with dignity. "My father hates it."

"Vincent, Louis, Hector, and Scorpius." I ponder, reaching for my pajamas, "I think you're the odd one out, Malfoy."

"If we're looking for odd ones out," he says, "then I say it's Bentley. We all expected to be placed in Slytherin, he didn't. And he's obviously not too happy about being here." Malfoy's pale cheeks are becoming flushed. "My forefathers have been in Slytherin as far back as we can trace and i've wanted nothing more than to belong to this house."

"Your forefathers were all rotten to the core, that's why." Bentley snaps, "I'd be careful about using your father's name around here, if I were you."

"My father did what he had to for his family in a very difficult time." Scorpius shrieks back.

Blaise leans against the narrow mantle piece, placing a family photograph on it that he just got out of his trunk. "I think it would be wise to not think too much about what our fathers did." He glances in my direction as he speaks and I shift uncomfortably. "We are not our fathers, and that should suffice. You are a Slytherin now," he says, turning to Bentley, "which means it's the best house for you." With that he gets into bed and draws his hangings. The wind is taken out of the argument, slowly we all get into bed, but the tension remains palpable.

I lay for a long time gazing up at the canopy of my bed. I'd never thought of myself as lucky before, but with my father dead and my mother in Azkaban I have no reason to want to feel proud of them. Scorpius knows his father, and what's more, so does everyone else, and that must be harder. My mind drifts from flickering, green light to delicious food, and suddenly the voice of the Sorting Hat is in my head again, _Well I can't see where else I should put you. You have talent, ambition, pride, determination, all good Slytherin qualities. _

_"I will NOT be in Slytherin!" _

_And what's wrong with Slytherin? It really is the best place for you, nowhere else would you be at home in your own head._

_"I CAN'T be in Slytherin!"_

_If you had strong traits belonging to anywhere else then I'd consider it, but your bravery is overshadowed by your ambition, your kindness by pride and your cleverness is secondary to your determination, although I must say that in your case determination will serve you far better. _

_"Please not Slytherin."_

_No, I'll hear no more of this, Slytherin is a noble house and that's where you belong whether you like it or not! _

"SLYTHERIN!"

Well, the Hat has spoken and this is where I've ended up. I drift off to sleep wondering what the Hat said to Louis Bentley before announcing his sentence.


	7. Chapter 7

On waking up it takes me a little while of fighting off various dreams before I correctly identify where I am, and then I remember last night and Vector's announcement and I groan quietly. Suddenly I have to be up, I swing my legs over the side of my four-poster, pushing the blue curtains aside as I do so, and pad barefooted up the curved stone staircase to the common room. The curtains are drawn and the ceiling is the dawn colour of clear topaz, still dotted with golden stars. There's a golden stripe visible on the horizon to the east that hails sunrise, but the rest of the sky is gray with shallow rain-leaden clouds.

I begin to pace up and down between the two fireplaces, first towards the archway into the common room, then towards the white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. I have to stay calm, and I have to think my way out of this. Where in Hogwarts is there a concealed room that would serve our purpose? What we need is another Room of Requirement, that legendary space used by Potter's organisation all those years ago, but Fiendfyre finally put pay to that. Gradually the sun rises enough to peep its golden face between the gray hills and the gray sky and the white statue glows ahead of me. I stop and look up into the stern face.

"What would you do if you were me?" I ask of the inanimate stone. But someone does reply and I leap about a foot in the air and turn around.

"Do you honestly think she could help you?" The soft voice says from nowhere. There appears to be no one in the light filled room, and then I see a slight shadow against the opposite wall. The Gray Lady drifts towards me and in the bright light she is next to invisible.

"How long have you been there?" I ask, suddenly self conscious.

"A while. You seem agitated, young Astrid. Surely it's too soon in the year for you to be experiencing stress?"

"I thought it would be. I'd hoped it would be." I scratch my head and frown towards the lower half of the sun, just about to disappear above the clouds and out of sight.

"What do you need?" She's moved towards the window and I can't see her at all anymore.

"A room, an undetectable room." There's a pause at this.

"I'm afraid I am not the one to help you." I drop my hands in disappointment. "Do not despair. Hogwarts holds many secrets, and there is often a chamber to be found that would suit most needs."

This is hardly comforting. Hogwarts is huge and even a lifetime of dedicated exploration cannot reveal everything.

"But if no one's ever found it before, how can I? Do I walk around every corridor thinking and speaking my needs in the hope that a door reveals itself?"

"You're thinking like a Gryffindor." She snaps, "Who says that the space you need has never been found? Use your head, not your legs or your tongue, and you will get further. The answer will not present itself to you like a gift, you must seek it."

I hear noises downstairs and realise it must be nearly time for breakfast. "I've got to go. Erm, thanks."

"You're welcome." She sighs from the window and I turn towards the dormitory stairs. I find Eva and Beth already awake and pulling on their robes.

"Where have you been?" They ask in surprise as I run in.

"Upstairs, wondering about. I woke up really early and couldn't sleep." I reply as I dive headfirst into my trunk and emerge with a pair of black jeans and a green wooly jumper that I pull on first before dragging my robes over my head.

"Urgh I hate that." Says Eva, she's coiling her long blonde hair into a loose bun and absently sticks her wand through it for safe keeping.

"Are we ready yet?" Says Beth from the doorway. Our other room-mates Linda Greenwood and Georgie Bruce have already left.

"Almost!" I say as I drag a brush through my hair. "Ok, let's go."

Down in the great hall the enchanted ceiling reflects the gray of the sky. We sit down at the Ravenclaw table and I help myself to toast, a poached egg, and some bacon. Presently there's a swooshing sound that announces the post owls and I look up, casting around for my sentence. I recognise James's own discreet barn owl, and grimace. "Hi, Jasper." I say as he lands on my shoulder and sticks out his leg. In return I feed him my bacon rind and he hangs around for a little while, drinking from my goblet and preening himself. As I unroll James's letter, Emery Benson slides into the seat beside me. He's the only other member of the operation to belong to Ravenclaw, a thick-set fourth year with mousey brown lego hair and a matching round face. Benson looks entirely innocent, but he has a sharp mind and can have an even sharper tongue. He'd make a great politician.

"We have a set back." He states under his breath.

"Indeed. Any ideas?" We speak softly so that no one else can hear. Eva and Beth chat together, they're used to me holding private conversations with fellow Orphans, and a need to do this is only too easy to fabricate.

"Not yet." He says, buttering himself some toast. "Obviously we can't solve the problem here, shall we have a library session tonight and think it out?"

"Sounds good. In the mean time keep your ear to the ground, this isn't going to be simple."

"Agreed. What does J.C. order?"

I smile grimly and casually open the letter. Jasper pulls a whole rasher of bacon from the dish in the middle and sets about killing it again beside my plate, and I read.

_Dear Astrid_

_I hope this finds you well and that the little'un is as promising as you were. The orders are nothing unusual to you now, so I'll just get on with it. _

_Felix Felicis_

_Pollyjuice Potion_

_GhostWalker_

_Alihotsy Draught _

_Baruffio's Brain Elixir _

_Solution 125_

_Wideye Potion_

_Draught of Peace_

_KuKu_

_Sleep Euphoria_

_Contact me if there are any complications. Jasper knows the way. _

_All best_

_J.C._

"Well that's simple enough." Benson says and I laugh hollowly. "Who's the little'un?"

"Vincent Hevoret."

"You're his mentor then? He's a Slytherin now, I saw him Sorted."

"We all did." I say, tearing a strip off the bottom of James's letter and pulling a quill out of my pocket.

"Is he any good?" Emery sounds a bit apprehensive and I have to smile.

"He is."

I quickly scribble on the scrap of parchment,

_Shack discovered. Need new premises. Delays expected. I'm on it._

I roll this up and wrestle Jasper away from the rest of the bacon long enough to attach it to his leg. Reluctantly he takes off and disappears through the window just as Professor Augustin makes his way along the table handing out new timetables. I read down my list: Transfiguration, History of Magic, Charms and Herbology today. It could be worse. I catch Eva's eye and we stand up to go.

"Not a terrible timetable." She says, tucking hers inside her robes.

"Distinctly average." I reply. "Oh no, are we going to wait for Beth or not?" While I'd been talking to Benson she'd skipped over to the Gryffindor table and is now wrapped up with Ralph in what appears to be a contortion act.

"We'll give her a minute." Eva replies, folding her arms and turning as we approach the double doors. All three of us lean towards different subjects, Beth to Transfiguration, Eva to Charms and I obviously shine at Potions. The thing is that all of these are core subjects, they're lessons we have to take, so when it came to choosing electives, we all signed up for the same because our specific interests were covered and it didn't really matter. That's not to say we're in each other's pockets the whole time, Eva loves doing muggle artwork, though she often bewitches the paint, and Beth loves Magical Theory. I used to take Ancient Studies, mostly because the Egyptians used to brew some wild potions, but I don't suppose i'll have much time for that this year.

Eventually I get too impatient and, I admit it, a bit disgusted by Beth's public display of affection, and pull my wand out. Before Eva even notices what i'm up to I mutter "Carpe Retractum", and with the satisfaction of decisive action a length of fine rope shoots from the end of my wand, wraps itself around Beth's middle and I tug. Not hard, but enough to let her know we're waiting. She squeals and turns in her seat.

"Now, Beth." I say, she scowls and then nods. I give my wand a sideways flick and the rope vanishes.

"Where did you learn that one?" Eva asks in surprise. I can tell she's impressed.

"I learnt it last year, have you not seen me use it?"

"No. The rope was so delicate!"

I laugh, "I'm sure you can do better mademoiselle charmant!"

I remember now, Tony Cartwright taught it to me in the Shrieking Shack so I didn't have to keep asking him to pass me ingredients. After practicing on a broken table in one of the upstairs rooms I got very good at hooking delicate bundles of herbs and bottles. Not that Accio wouldn't have done the trick, but it does well to have some back ups.

Beth joins us rosy cheeked and scruffy haired, and we make our way back up to the tower to collect our books.


	8. Chapter 8

This morning when we wake up Bentley is already gone. Malfoy curses him under his breath as we pull on our robes, collect our wands, and head for the door. Emerging into the common room I have to stifle a gasp. The hall is bathed in gently rippling green light that pours in through the circular windows in the ceiling and also through two wide, squat, arched windows set back in the walls to the left and right as we walk out of the marble archway. These must have been obscured by heavy green curtains last night. Blaise, Malfoy and me walk towards the one on the left and kneel on a comfy window seat to peer through it. Visible through the water are swaying shapes that must be weeds, and gazing down towards the depths of the lake we can see a large rock formation.

"My father told me he's seen mer-people through these windows before, and all kinds of other creatures." Malfoy said, stepping backwards.

"What about the giant squid?" I ask, trying to work out how far under the lake we are.

"That too." He says, casually.

"Come on, I'm hungry." Blaise moans, stepping down and leading the way out of the common room.

"Do you think we'll find our way back?" I ask, as the wall seals itself invisibly behind us.

"I'd better be able to." Malfoy says, "my father's been getting me to recite the directions on command for the last year."

With him in the lead we come out into the entrance hall beside the marble staircase and head into the great hall. The smell of breakfast is delicious and my stomach rumbles loudly. I can't help feeling surprised at this, I ate so much last night that I honestly thought i'd never have to eat again. There are piles of toast, tureens of eggs cooked in every possible way, kippers, smoked mackerel, bacon, sausages, a covered dish of perfectly formed omelets, porridge, cereal, and fruit. For a few minutes I'm so excited by the variety that I can't make up my mind and then i'm brought back to earth by Blaise laughing at me.

"You know this stuff will probably be here every morning, there's no need to lose your head."

I calm down, take some toast and marmalade, scrambled eggs, and two sausages. To our surprise, Malfoy heads for a tureen of porridge, and when he sees our faces says, "What?"

"Porridge? Really?" Blaise says incredulously.

"I always eat porridge in the morning, it's an excellent start to the day." We laugh and his cheeks colour a little from their usual white, so I say, "fair enough." and we drop it. A few minutes later Bentley appears and drops into a seat beside me.

"Where have you been?" I ask in surprise.

"I went to see Professor Vector." He says, helping himself to toast and bacon and forming a bacon sandwich.

"Oh don't tell me," Blaise leans backward, a single eyebrow creeping towards his hairline. "You wanted to try on the Hat again, didn't you."

Bentley chooses that moment to take a bite of his sandwich and so doesn't reply.

"Well clearly he didn't get very far," Says Malfoy, dusting his porridge with sugar, "He's still eating with us, isn't he."

Bentley swallows, "And I will be for the rest of my school days."

On that note I catch sight of a middle aged professor, dressed in robes of deep green, making his way along the table handing out pieces of parchment. Presently he reaches us and smiles. He's a tall man who was probably handsome once upon a time, but has since rounded into a shape that would be best described as comfortable.

"Morning boys, I'm Professor Pucey, your head of house and your potions master. Ah," he pauses to look at the squares of parchment before handing one to each of us, "you have potions class first thing this morning, well you better get along and collect your books. I'll see you in fifteen minutes."

With that he moves on to the next group, the first year girls who i've not really spoken to yet.

We finish our food and head for the common room first to collect our bags, and then head back out into the corridor and look around us. The dungeons all look the same, but Malfoy strikes off back up towards the entrance hall and then turns away at the first fork down a new passage with heavy oak doors to the left and right. Eventually we hear voices up ahead and join the back of a line of first year Gryffindors, who share our lesson according to our timetable. Within a couple of minutes the door to the dungeon creaks open and we all creep inside. Professor Pucey is sitting behind his desk on the other side of the room, writing something with a long black quill, and he doesn't look up while we take our places at large rough wooden desks.

As we edge our way around the room I'm aware of Bentley right behind me, and in desperation to not end up with him as a desk partner I speed up and find myself amongst the Slytherin girls. I can see Al and McLaggen a row in front and as I take up my place alongside a small girl with straight black hair and large eyes somewhat amplified by a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses, Al turns around and smiles.

"You alright, Vincent?" He says.

"Yup, you?" He nods. "Did you have a good first night?"

He nods again. "Gryffindor Tower is brilliant!"

"Slytherin isn't so bad." I say with a grin, "You know it's under the lake and there are windows so you can see underwater, ouch!" I finish. The girl next to me is staring and has evidently just elbowed me in the ribs.

"We're not supposed to tell one another about our common rooms." She says, loftily.

"Why not?" Al and I say together.

"It's classified information for the people of each house to know their house secrets. I'm Ferne Arden, by the way, and you are?"

"Al." Albus replies and they shake hands, I've noticed that he doesn't like giving away his surname when he first meets people.

"Vincent Hevoret." I say, and she smiles. With that, Professor Pucey puts his quill down and silence falls.

"Welcome class, to your first ever lesson at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It seems fitting that your first lesson should be potions, because potions is an art like no other in the magical world. It requires no vocalized spells, no memorized wand movements, and no strength of will. Instead the essential ingredients that make a great potions master are intuition and timing. In potions these are one and the same for without one the other would be useless. During these lessons I will be assessing all of you for those two qualities." His voice is soft and musical, but as he moves from behind his desk and faces the class he gazes at each of us in turn as if attempting to quantify our intuition and timing by sight. "I believe in a practical approach, some would say that a first lesson is too soon to brew, but I say differently. I say it is essential to know my ingredients before creating my concoction. That being the case," He taps the left hand chalk board with the end of his wand and instructions appear, "You will prepare a simple cure for the boils. During the preparation there is a thirty-three minute hiatus during which time you will copy down these theoretical notes." He taps the right hand chalk board, and bullet pointed paragraphs appear in a graceful script. "Begin."

There is a flurry of movement as everyone reaches for their bags extracting cauldrons and ingredients. My cauldron is an old one of Astrid's that she gave me, it's plain and pewter and i've already used it about four dozen times in production, so it's well worn in. Ferne's, by comparison, is so clean I can see my face in it from the other side of the desk and it's obviously never been touched. The cure for the boils is very simple to make, i've never done it before but having successfully made Felix and Pollyjuice during the summer i'm pretty comfortable with the two stages of this one.

Everyone's very quiet, which I like. They seem to be terrified of messing up too badly on their first day and are giving their ingredients far more attention than they need. We have a two hour lesson and the thing needs to bubble for thirty-three minutes, i'm setting my flame to the right level and clearing my desk to make notes while Al is still on stage one, crush snake fangs in the mortar. Ferne is making a lot of mess on her half of the table, and she's heated her brew on high for a bit too long before bringing it back to the simmer.

I begin to copy out the notes on the board while Professor Pucey drifts along the lines of desks, pausing to observe progress. He doesn't speak or comment but seems intensely interested in the different methods on display. Scorpius is doing pretty well, he's onto his notes now and Professor Pucey looks satisfied as he glances through the steam into the contents of his cauldron. About thirty minutes later I get up and take a look. My solution has taken on the desired strong purple clear colour of Ribena. It's not quite thirty-three minutes but the potion's ready so I begin to add my horned slugs and lift my cauldron off the flame. There's about half an hour left of the class and i'm done. I tidy my table and sit down to look around.

Professor Pucey eyes me from across the room, so I avert my eyes and watch Ferne. She's getting flustered because the mistake she made while heating has turned into a much wider problem that has now converted her solution to a jelly-like consistency and she's having trouble adding her porcupine quills.

"Take them out." I say, "Have you got any Flobberworm Mucus?"

She takes the quills out with her ladle and shakes her head, so I get up and go to the store cupboard and find some. This is just a hunch because yesterday on the train I happened to read the double page on curing boils and there are two methods of preparation, one of which involves Flobberworm Mucus. I get back to our table, add about a ladle-full, and gently rock the cauldron until the jelly breaks down and goes an opaque purple. Well it's better than it was.

"Ok, try the porcupine quills now."

She puts them in, stirs five times clockwise, and the solution turns a thick pale blue.

"Well at least it's the right colour." I say. She nods.

"How did you know to do that?" She asks, and then a deep voice says,

"I think I'd like to know the answer to that question." Professor Pucey is standing right behind us and I wheel around. Everyone else is finishing up now and most eyes turn towards our table.

"I read it in the book on the Hogwarts Express." I say quickly.

"What did you read?" He asks, he's looking at me without blinking and it's quite un-nerving.

"That there are two methods of curing boils and one calls for Flobberworm Mucus."

"And you just happened to think it might be worth mixing potion recipes?"

I swallow a bit here, I get the impression that i've broken a rule somewhere, and I mutter my response while glaring at the stone wall behind his head, "Well, it was jelly, Sir, something needed to be done."

"Let me see your potion." He says. I step aside and he moves forward to examine it. "It is perfect, Hevoret, ten points to Slytherin for your excellent work, and five for rescuing Miss Arden. In future, however, I would rather you keep to your own cauldron, as that gives me a clearer view of how each student is progressing."

With that he drifts away to comment on other people's potions. A Gryffindor girl, Rose Weasley, gets ten points, and so does Scorpius. As the bell sounds for break, Professor Pucey says, "Hevoret, a word." And I hang behind. As the door shuts he continues, "I was very impressed by you today, have you ever brewed a potion before?" He's sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair and gazing without blinking again.

"No." I say, a little too forcefully, his brow creases.

"Your cauldron looked well worn in."

"It's second hand. I'm an Orphan."

"Of course. Well in that case you're the most talented first year student i've seen but for one other. I would like a written report from you on exactly what you observed go wrong in Miss Arden's method, and how you set about fixing it."

"How long should it be, Sir?"

"Oh not long. This isn't homework, it's just something I'd like to have, for my records."

I nod once and turn. At the door I stop, suddenly aware of a burning question. "Sir, what was the name of that other first year, the other one who impressed you?"

"Astrid Langstrom." He calls across the room, and I leave my first ever class at Hogwarts with a big grin on my face.


	9. Chapter 9

My first day ends eventually and I find myself limping towards the library after dinner nursing a few Herbology induced scratches. We'd kicked off the year tending to the Fanged Geraniums, which had been somewhat neglected over the summer and as a result were in a foul temper. My only talent when it comes to Herbology lies in my ability to kill everything, even if it does put up a good fight. Professor Longbottom views me as a bit of a challenge, I think, and he's so sincere I sometimes find myself beginning to care, but right now I wouldn't mind if all Fanged Geraniums caught a deadly disease and shriveled up overnight.

Wondering if I couldn't procure such results by slipping all of those in greenhouse four a dodgy potion, I walk into the library and head towards my favourite corner as far away from the Librarian, Mr. Drummond, as it's possible to get. Mr. Drummond is a small man, who's shaped like a series of balls. He has no hair on his smooth, round head, and over his shirt and tie he wears red v-neck jumpers which stretch across the vast expanse of his stomach, making him look like the planet Mars. This little man orbits the library with a very unpredictable frequency of rotation, and considering his size and implicit weight, he moves as if he exists at zero gravity. These qualities combine to make a very disconcerting person indeed, because you never expect a fat man in a bright red jumper to be able to creep up on you, but he can and he does.

I collapse into my favourite high-backed chair and pull my Transfiguration book towards me. Fifth years have to write an essay on turning inanimate objects into living organisms, the objects focused on are our own choice, the deadline of one week isn't. A few minutes later Emery Benson appears, swiftly followed by Alexis Graham and Marisa Zalvidar, fourth years from Slytherin house. Eventually there's a group of eight of us sitting around the circular table at the back of the library. Books are out, parchment and quills. Titles are written, the pretense of a large homework party is established, and we mutter together. I pass James's letter around and everyone reads the orders with knotted brows.

"Who's the 'little'un'?" Alexis Graham asks from halfway down the table. She's a tall, thin, girl with flaming red hair that looks, frankly, stunning against her green robes. If it wasn't for the hollows under her eyes that suggest an addiction of some kind, i'll have to keep an eye on that, she'd be a very beautiful girl.

"Vincent Hevoret. I'm his mentor, he's a first year." I say.

"And he's here." Says a defiant little voice. All heads turn as he walks stiffly forwards and plonks himself down in a chair next to Marisa Zalvidar.

"Good first day?" Marisa asks, a smile creeping across her round face. She's a beater on the Slytherin team, the first female beater in about thirty years actually so I have some respect for her.

"Yup. Potions was fun." Everyone laughs quietly as he brings out a side of parchment, a quill and inkwell and then pauses, "so where are we going to do this?"

"That's what we're trying to decide."

"How about the room of rewards?" Says Alexis. This room is behind the portrait of Vindictus Veridian on the main staircase.

"I don't want to set up there if we don't have to. It's right in the middle of things, someone will see someone getting in and everything will be discovered, and you heard Vector, that spells a span in Azkaban."

Some of the others nod. "What if we take an invisibility potion?" Asks John Faraway, a sixth year Gryffindor.

"If you want to be bumping into people and causing accidents around expensive and dangerous potions, be my guest, but it won't be as part of my organisation." I say. I'd thought of invisibility draught as an option on several occasions, but the cons always outweighed the pros in my opinion.

"What about the room behind the TV in the muggle studies classroom?" Suggests Alexis. This room was discovered by some of the crew from Ollie Mason's era when they were searching for new premises, but was passed up in favour of the Shack.

"The entrance is in a classroom that's in use every single day." I say, shaking my head. "It's just not practical."

"Does someone have Advanced Potion Making?" Faraway says suddenly and a little louder than we'd been whispering. We all go quiet and someone asks a question related to summoning charms. Mr. Drummond floats past the end of the shelves casting his beady eyes in our direction. We keep up the study-talk for a while, and then continue as we were.

"What about the Chamber of Secrets?" Vincent speaks from halfway down the table and there's a pause. The ideal location that has been on everyone's mind ever since they joined the operation. Located within the castle, concealed, and perfect. I sigh.

"Can you speak Parseltongue, Vincent?"

"Ron Weasley couldn't speak Parseltongue, but he got in during the Last Battle." He retorts. I frown at this. At what point did Vincent get so knowledgeable about the Last Battle? Shelving this question, I say instead,

"But he'd heard someone, he mimicked the sound."

"And you're telling me there's no book in this library about magical languages?" I stare at him for a few moments. Up and down the table people are either looking at him or at me.

"Ok, it's day one of finding new premises." I say with a grimace. "We have until Wednesday next week to have found somewhere new, which will give us until Friday to kit it out, with the weekend to work overtime getting potions underway. Obviously, ideally we'll have found somewhere sooner than that, but i'm working on realistic time scales. I don't know about anyone else, but I want to get into that chamber." I pause, everyone nods. "We make finding a way in there our main objective, and I don't want any clumsiness here, no one's going in that bathroom and asking Moaning Myrtle how it's done." A few people laugh at this. "Ok, we all know the score. We will crack this."

Everyone nods. John Faraway begins to pack up his things and so does Grace Walters, they're the only Gryffindors in the organisation and Grace is a seventh year. A large proportion of those present stay and make a dent in whatever homework they were pretending to do. Vincent gets up, leaving his stuff at the table, and disappears amongst the shelves. He's gone to find a book on Parseltongue no doubt and I stifle a snort. He's surprisingly brilliant in some ways, but incredibly simple and direct in others. As a first year he hasn't quite grasped the fact that not _all_ books in Hogwarts are kept in the library, or are available to students. If there's a book on Parseltongue in this school it will either be in the Restricted Section, or it will be in Professor Vector's office. I know where i'd rather it is, and I honestly don't think it will be there.

Subconsciously I start developing a strategy to get in there. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Vector's often away from the castle doing work abroad or attending meetings in London at the Ministry. Still, I shudder to think that's what we might be reduced to. I don't fancy thieving from the headmistress of Hogwarts.

About an hour goes by and I get about a ten inches of my essay done before Drummond floats into view again. "I'm closing the library." He says and then stands watching us. I'd forgotten the directness in his approach. I gather up my things, everyone else is scuttling off between the shelves, apart from Emery, who's hanging back so that we can walk up to Ravenclaw tower together. As I approach the end of the table I realise that Vincent still hasn't got back.

"There's a first year here you might have missed. I'll go and get him." Drummond's eyes narrow as I walk past him, leaving he and Emery standing together in an awkward silence. Vincent's sitting on the floor at the foot of a large book case with an enormous book propped against his legs.

"What you reading?" I ask, not troubling to keep my voice down this time. Silently he lifts the book to reveal elaborate gold lettering that reads, _A Concise Compendium of Wizarding Languages. _I smile. "That doesn't look very concise. Come on, the library's closing."

"It closes?" He asks blankly.

"Yes, Vincent, it closes. Now get a move on." He scowls and scrambles up off the ground. "You making friends?" I ask.

"Yes." He says. I roll my eyes.

"Wow, Vincent, stop with the details already, people will think I care."

"You do care, clearly." He says. Little sh*t.

"Yer, well, good luck finding your common room." I retort, and walk out of the library with Benson at my heels.

"You ok Astrid?" He asks when we've got a decent way along the corridor.

"Yup." I say. "Just working out who to bribe for a signed note."

"For the Restricted Section?" He says, "You really think you'd have to bribe Professor Pucey?"

I smile. No I wouldn't, but he'd ask questions so i'd need to think of a solid reason. We wend our way upwards, a concealed staircase here, jumping a trip step there, and finally we start the tight ascent that leads to the common room and come to the Eagle in the door.

"What is it that no man ever yet sees, which never was, but always will be?"

We look at one another. "Say it again?" Says Emery. She does, and waits patiently.

"Like all things I think the most significant segment is the last. What is always to be?" I muse.

"Tomorrow?" He asks.

"Correct." Says the Eagle, and the door swings open.


	10. Chapter 10

Most of the lessons here are practical. At muggle school I used to look forward to practical classes, here they're a nightmare. Apart from potions, but then that one was always going to go better for me. The problem is that all of the teachers want to see a result, a result from the process of you waving a wand at an object while speaking a word. Yesterday Professor Augustin examined our wands before beginning our Transfiguration class, he was very interested in them and said that because the wand chooses the wizard or witch the kind of wand you have often says more about you than anything else, even Sorting.

My wand, which is rowan wood, is very pale with golden swirly patterns where the wood has been left thicker. It has a Unicorn Hair core, and is nine inches long. I love my wand, but currently it does not seem to love me. And neither does Professor Augustin, because despite seeming quite happy when he diagnosed that mine would be excellent for Transfiguration, he kept his beady eyes on me all lesson and I didn't manage to produce much in the way of anything all class.

When I met my wand in Ollivander's shop, it made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and shot green sparks like firecrackers. Now, there's not much there. It's almost as though I have to earn its power, and I haven't yet worked out how to do that. Scorpius's wand seems a lot more easy going, his is Hawthorn with a Dragon Heartstring core. Although it's eager and powerful, his trouble seems to be in controlling it, or at least that's how it seems because in yesterdays class instead of turning his match into a needle he made his match ignite into a fireball and fly across the room.

I'm thinking all of this over whilst staring at my dish of lamb stew. It's lunch time and our next lesson is our very first flying class. Flying seems to be the Wizarding equivalent of P.E. but there's a significant problem here because i'm terrible at heights when there's a chance I might fall. Scorpius is sitting next to me talking to Blaise and Bentley, they're all into flying and Quidditch and all the rest of it. I'm into surviving school long enough to survive life.

Long before I'm ready Scorpius, Blaise and Bentley get up, I drop my fork with a clatter and stagger to my feet. It's irrational, I know, because whatever injury I will sustain during this class, the school matron will fix it in less than a minute, but that doesn't make me feel any better. The grounds are damp today because it rained in the night, but now there's patchy clouds and white sunlight as we trudge over the grass towards the Quidditch stadium. There in the middle of the stands lie about twenty broomsticks in a circle and we all stand next to one. The Gryffindors are already there, and I take up a place between Al and Scorpius.

"Hi," says Al brightly, he's obviously another one who loves the idea of flying. "I've been looking forward to this." I make an indistinct noise in the back of my throat. "Apparently Madam Griffiths is a legend." He natters on while I clench my jaw and concentrate on not panicking. Scorpius leans around to talk to Al.

"She played Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies back in the fifties." He said excitedly. "Hi, I'm Scorpius Malfoy, and you're Albus Potter, aren't you?"

"Yes." Albus says. There's a moments pause while they regarded one another and then they stop talking and turn away. Scorpius takes up his conversation with Blaise on his other side and Al turns to Rose Weasley on his other side, while I stand in the middle feeling sick.

Presently an old witch arrives dressed head to toe in Quidditch garb with the addition of a floral headscarf. By the looks of her well weathered face she's ancient, but she stands tall and proud and regards us all with a shrewd expression.

"Afternoon." She begins briskly, scanning down a list she's been carrying on a clipboard. "I have no interest in wasting everyone's time by teaching already capable flyers the basics. Who here is a capable flyer?" Scorpius, Blaise, Bentley, Al, McLaggen, Ferne Arden, Rose Weasley and a few others put their hands up. "You lot, take this Quaffle and keep yourselves occupied scoring goals at that end." She nods towards the three hoops standing fifty feet in the air while handing Ferne the large red ball. "Take it in turns to play at Keeper and in an hour i'll teach you some more advanced maneuvers."

All of them shout "Up!", mount their brooms and fly off towards the other end of the pitch, leaving a group of eight behind. Madam Griffiths regards us all sternly.

"There's nothing to be afraid of here. Today all you will be doing is mounting our brooms, skimming close to the ground, and playing a few games at a safe height." I begin to breath a little better, as long as I can put my feet down and touch the ground I'll be fine. "First thing's first, hold out your right hand and command the broom to rise." She stands next to one of the spare brooms left on the ground and says, "Up!", like the others just did, and her broom leaps into her hand.

We all put our hands out and say "Up!" I'm so nervous that my voice makes the word sound more like a suggestion than a command and the broom rolls over pathetically. The thing is that i'm ok with this. If the broom wants to stay there then i'm happy to comply. I look at Madam Griffiths and shrug. She frowns back. "Well try again, boy, there's no use for a broom that won't fly."

I think briefly of the possibilities attached to sweeping and clearing cobwebs before clearing my throat and managing to say "Up!" with a little more authority. Apparently that's all the broom needed because it rises into my hand and stays level. I wrap my fingers around the wood and feel it humming slightly.

"Now, mount your broomstick." I swing my leg over and keep my feet firmly on the ground. A gangling Gryffindor boy is already trying to hook his feet into the stirrups, he's got long, dark hair and way too much limb for his body. We all watch as he manages to somehow get one foot tangled, tries to counterbalance with an elbow and ends up sprawled on the grass. Madam Griffiths walks over and helps him up. "What's your name, boy?"

"Jones, Pete Jones." He says, hooking his long hair out of his eyes.

"Use this, Jones." She says, holding out a hair elastic. "And try again." His cheeks redden as he swings his leg over his broomstick and sets about tying back his curls.

"The trick is to trust the broomstick. It will stay level unless commanded to do otherwise. All of you, while looking forward, reach one leg backwards and feel for the stirrup. If you try to watch what you're doing at this stage you'll follow Jones's example and end up on the ground."

Eventually I find the stirrup and hook my heel into it, then comes the next foot and I break out in a cold sweat as it leaves the ground. I feel distinctly unstable as I sit there, clutching the narrow broom handle.

"Don't look at the ground." Madam Griffiths commands, and my eyes snap forward. "Now I want all of you to very slightly lean forward."

We do this and we start to move forward. I give a great wobble but manage to keep my seat, two other people fall off, including Jones. It's slow work, and for an hour we practice going forward and not falling off. Eventually we manage to form a circle and follow each other around and around, always keeping about two feet off the ground. I feel like one of the kids at the shallow end of the pool, learning how to tread water while the older kids play water polo and dive. High above us at the other end of the pitch Rose Weasley, who's in goal, shouts "Three, two to Gryffindor!" and we hear a hubbub of sporting responses from the two small teams.

Suddenly my hand slips and I clutch at my broom in panic as I fall forwards, i'd lost concentration for a few seconds and now I'm paying the price. The broom, reading this as a command to speed up, shoots off at high speed. I cry out in surprise and hear Madam Griffiths shouting at me to "lean backwards!" but all I want to do is cling on, so I do, but i'm hurtling towards one of the stands and it looks pretty solid, so I try putting pressure on the broomstick in an attempt to turn it. This works, sort of, and I miss the stand by about an inch. I'm just about to feel relieved when I look up and see the stone wall that encloses the castle lawns coming straight at me. If I could only get to the ground, i'd be ok, but i'm going too fast! I push the nose of the broomstick downwards and go into a very short dive, because i'm still only two feet from the grass the broom handle catches on the ground and catapults me forward straight into the wall. I feel something break in my right arm as I crumple at the foot of the wall and look up to see the whole class racing in my direction.

"It's alright, boy." Griffiths calls as she reaches me. "You'll need the hospital wing, but it's nothing that a swift mending spell won't handle. Who will volunteer to go with him?"

"I will." Says Al, immediately.

I'm slightly surprised by this and I stagger to my feet, my head's pounding and although I know that my arm is broken, it gives off nothing more than a dull ache. Madam Griffiths improvises a sling for me out of her floral headscarf and we hobble off towards the castle.

"So you've never flown before?" Al asks as we walk along.

"How could you tell?" I say sarcastically.

"That's alright." He grins, "When I flew for the first time I broke my leg." He points to his right knee. "I accidentally drove my brother's broomstick straight up in the air and then fell off at about sixty feet."

"How old were you?" I ask.

"It was my seventh birthday." He says, and then starts laughing. "I was seen by two muggle ramblers who happened to be on the footpath just by our house. It would have been ok if i'd kept low because of the trees, but I didn't, and dad had to call some friends from the Ministry to hush it all up and perform memory spells!"

I start laughing now and I feel a bit better. "I hate heights." I admit.

"That might be a problem." He says. "I bet there's a spell for that, or a potion or something. We should look it up! We don't have anything else today. Do you want to go to the library and try to find something after we get you fixed?"

"Sure." I'm relieved that Albus doesn't think I'm an idiot for not being able to fly, we chat all the way up to the hospital wing which he knows the way to because he's seen it en rout to the Gryffindor common room. Madam Bones, the matron, sighs when we walk in.

"You're the first i've had in here with a flying injury and you won't be the last." She's a middle aged witch with a kind face and red hair scooped back in a bun. She mends my arm in a second and then feels my head. "Aching?" She asks. I nod, and she measures out a beaker of amethyst coloured potion. "Drink." I do, and my headache stops immediately. "Better?" I nod again and she says, "Good, now be on your way and make sure you don't have to see me again too soon."

We hurry off to the library, and I lead the way this time because i've already been.

"So what's it like in Slytherin?" Al asks, as we start wondering amongst the shelves.

"It's alright. The common room is cool."

"What's Scorpius Malfoy like?" He asks quickly, so that I can tell it's been on his mind.

"He's ok." I respond. "I know your parents didn't get on."

"My father saved his father's life." He says, haughtily.

"What?" I'm shocked by this.

"How much do you know about the Battle for Hogwarts?"

"Not much." We take our books to the back table that Astrid had been sitting at and begin casually flicking through them while he tells me all about it. About how Potter's organisation, Dumbledore's Army had been fighting for freedom while Albus's dad had been away fighting He Who Must Not Be Named and destroying his special weapons.

"Did your father tell you all of this?" I ask, in awe.

"No, my Uncle Ron told all of us on Christmas Eve last year."

"I never heard much about Ron Weasley's part in the battle, I only heard about Potter and the Dark Lord in the Great Hall at the end."

"Oh he helped destroy the weapons." Albus whispers animatedly, as we flick through our books. "He was the one who got into the Chamber of Secrets to get the secret ingredient that would destroy the weapons." I gape at Albus when he says this.

"He went into the Chamber of Secrets? How?"

"Have you heard the story of my dad and the Heir of Slytherin?" He asks, clearly he's enjoying himself and I have to admit I'm fascinated. So he tells me the story and when he gets to the part where Potter speaks Parseltongue he makes this strangled hissing sound and I clap my hand to my mouth to stop myself from crying out.

"You can speak Parseltongue?" I whisper, urgently.

"No, of course not." Albus grins. "And neither can my dad any more, but Uncle Ron was there when he said the words and he remembered and that's how he got into the Chamber of Secrets during the battle."

"Say it again?" He repeats the series of noises and then continues with the story of Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin. Surreptitiously I scribble a rough spelling of the sounds on a corner of parchment, my head ringing with excitement.


	11. Chapter 11

After a reshuffle in timetables, all Hogwarts students have a shorter day on Tuesday. We normally have four lessons, but on Tuesdays it's only three. This is because Professor Vector holds a staff meeting at that time and wanted to make room for it during the school day. I set myself up in the common room on a window seat looking out over the lake, with my legs out in front of me and my Transfiguration essay resting on a large, thin Herbology volume that has a very nice soft leather cover and is great to write on. I can't seem to focus on it too much, my inanimate object of choice is a chair, and my creature is a large dog. This simplifies matters because both the chair and the dog have four legs, but the intricacies of how to make a dog that doesn't have a wood grain effect on its fur coat have so far evaded me. What I need to do is ask Beth about it, she finished her essay last night in one hour long sitting, and she's off somewhere with Ralph.

The truth is that the question of the Chamber of Secrets is gnawing at me. It's the obvious place to set up shop, it's bold, it's unexpected, it's convenient, and it's secure. Damn Vincent. Before he spoke up we'd all been thinking of it, and none of us had ever said anything purely because it was the ultimate unattainable dream. Now, now it's been vocalised, we can't possibly consider any alternative.

The common room is reasonably quiet, the grounds are damp but the sky is clear and students are making the most of the last rain-free weather by strolling around the grounds. Eva is off somewhere, probably setting up a new project in the room they use for muggle art, charming paint and splashing it on canvas. I push my essay to one side and get up to study the book cases on either side of the window i'm currently occupying. I know the volumes, I've known them since halfway through first year. They're all Ravenclaw speciality books, and by that I mean books about logic, riddles, reasoning, and mind exercises. It's said that every answer to every question that can be asked by the Eagle Door Knocker is in the books within Ravenclaw Tower. My favourite is a heavy red leather bound book with ornate gold lettering that reads _The Way of the Sphinx_. The weight is comforting, and the wisdom is too. Nothing written in it is new, it's all things I know but didn't know I knew them until I read them, if that makes sense. The Gray Lady said I had to avoid thinking like a Gryffindor to find the answer, so I begin with _The Way of the Sphinx_.

At six o-clock I have had no inspiration and I head down to the great hall for dinner feeling distracted. On the way past the library I bump into Vincent and the Potter kid. Vincent looks like he's seen a ghost when he sees me.

"You all right?" I say.

"Yes. Hi Astrid." His eyes are like saucers and I can tell he wants to talk. I just hope he's not told the Potter kid anything. We head towards the great hall together. It's a bit awkward because I can tell i've caught Vincent between two ways of interaction so I try to help him out.

"Hi, you're Albus Potter, right?" I say by way of introduction.

"Yes, Hi." He says brightly, leaning around Vincent and shaking my hand. "You're a Ravenclaw? How do you know Vincent?"

"I'm his mentor." I reply and then falter, I'm not sure if Vincent's told him about being an Orphan and I don't want to show him up.

"We're at the Orphanage together." Vincent says. He grins now, getting back into his stride. "Astrid taught me everything I know."

"What about?" Asks Al, getting interested. I glare at Vincent a little.

"About Hogwarts and magic. You know, stuff. Didn't your brother teach you stuff?" It's a good cover up because the Potter kid instantly looks a bit self conscious. I get the impression he doesn't like talking about his brother, and it's small wonder. From what i've heard of the Gryffindor Quidditch protege, he's a bit of a prick. We've reached the foot of the marble staircase and Professor Augustin pauses near the entrance to the great hall, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his hands held neatly behind his back.

"Miss Langstrom, I would like a word." Vincent and Al disappear into the great hall and scuttle off to their separate tables.

"Yes Professor?" I ask, genuinely mystified. As my head of house there are a dozen reasons why he might want to talk, but for some reason i'm wary. My suspicions are amplified when he leads me into the small side room where the first years wait before Sorting.

"I could not 'elp but overhear your conversation wid doze boys, the young Slytherin, oo is he?"

"He's an Orphan first year and I'm his mentor." I reply.

"And you taught 'im all he knows?" There's something about his eyes, and the way they're boring into mine, that makes me uncomfortable.

"About all sorts of things, Sir." I say, trying to sound casual.

"What sorts of t'ings, Miss Langstrom?"

"The castle, the ghosts, the houses. It's difficult for us, Sir, we don't have siblings who can talk to us about Hogwarts before we get here, and we don't want to stand out more than we have to." I'm trying the _poor little orphan_ approach, but it doesn't take.

"The castle, the ghosts, the houses, and potions?" I stare.

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"I just 'ad a very interesting conversation with Professor Pucey after our staff meeting, and he said he had experienced the most extraordinary t'ing in a first year potions class. I don't suppose you could guess what it was?" I try not to blink too much as I shake my head slowly, arranging my face into what I hope is a mystified and quizzical expression. "He said that a young Slytherin boy, by the name of Hevoret, had managed to make a perfect cure for boils and helped a fellow student when she was struggling having made a mistake, practically rescuing hers from ruin. He den claimed to have never made a single potion before in his life." Inwardly I curse loudly, outwardly I make a face of innocent astonishment.

"I can't imagine where he found that skill, Sir." I say.

"Really?" He says, and I can tell he's been building up to this. "Because Professor Pucey also told me dat de only od'er student he remembers being so gifted at such an early stage, was yourself, and now I find that you are de boy's mentor. I can't help wondering if dere is a connection, vous comprend?"

"It must be coincidence." I say, determinedly.

"You call it coincidence, I call it miraculous dat it should be so. Especially considering dat de last winner of de Hogwarts award for achievement in potions was Mr. Haggard, who was your mentor, was he not?"

"He was." I say, the innocent act can't work anymore and I have to be more assertive. "I can see why this would appear to be a coincidence too far. The only explanation I can give is that over the summer I might have talked a bit more about potions than any other class, after all, it is my favourite." He inclines his head a little at this in acknowledgement of my skill, i'm certainly no genius at transfiguration. "He must have taken my books and been reading them without me noticing. If he's talented then I'm pleased for him, pleased and a little proud."

"Proud? As proud as Mr. Haggard is of you?"

"Not that proud yet, Sir." I say, smiling, "He's got a few more lessons to go before he'll be winning any awards or..."

"Enough of dis!" His eyes are as sharp as ice and he glares at me. "Dat brewing operation uncovered over de summer has been responsible for some very serious crimes and I intend to get to de bottom of it. Tell me, how is it dat Mr. Haggard managed to get t'rough school wit'out incurring any debt? How is it dat you have not any?"

I take a deep, steadying breath before responding in what I hope is a bruised yet dignified tone, while trying to disguise my rising panic. "The Orphanage is in London, Sir. We Deathlings have to work in muggle shops or banks or theatres or concert venues to pay our school fees." He winces at the word Deathling, and i'm pleased to see it's had an effect. "Just because our parents were criminal scum, it doesn't necessarily follow that we are too. We're just trying to get an education, Sir."

He blinks, I've wrong-footed him by calling him out on a prejudice, even if that prejudice isn't his, the world is so sensitive to it that the mere suggestion is enough.

"Of course, Miss Langstrom." He says, smiling again and making a move towards the door. "I am sorry if I caused offense, but you see, it is a serious matter." He pauses with his hand on the door latch. "If you hear of anyt'ing dat might help us expose the culprits..."

"I will let you know, Sir." He bows me out of the room and I walk into the great hall at a controlled speed, and I don't look back.

I'm shaking as I fall into a place at the end of the Ravenclaw table. I sit at the very end, far from anyone and grab the nearest dish of beef stew and some chunky bread. I feel sullen and sulky and exhausted from the encounter. After ten minutes or so, Vincent appears next to me and sits down.

"Astrid, I have to tell you something." He begins, but I cut him off.

"Yer? Well so do I. What the hell were you thinking performing perfectly in potions yesterday?" I can see Professor Augustin at the staff table engaged in conversation with Vector, so i'm safe from his razor eyes.

"I, erm." Vincent looks a bit taken aback.

"Because Augustin thinks it's really fishy that I'm good, and James was good, and now you're good, and he's starting to put two and two together if you see what I mean." I'm tearing at my bread savagely and I can see my sullen mood newly reflected in Vincent's pale, pointed face. He's silent and glowers at me.

"Just try to be a bit more average, will you." I snap.

"Well that won't be hard." He says finally, "Because I suck at everything else." With that he gets up and stalks off. I know I should feel bad, but I can't. I can't fit guilt into my overly crowded emotional capacities. I'm already frazzled and it's only the second day of term.


	12. Chapter 12 (part 1)

I'm so pissed off with Astrid right now. Firstly because I was going to tell her about the Chamber of Secrets and she cut me off, secondly because she told me to appear average, when I know for a fact that she never pretended anything. I stalk out of the hall and back towards the dungeons, glowering all the way. Strangely enough it feels good. At the Orphanage I'm allowed to be sulky and unpleasant to everyone and nobody thinks anything of it, here I have to attempt to be nice, and it's hard work.

I pause in a passageway under a torch bracket and get my cheat sheet out of my pocket. In a neat list are a series of five Ls and Rs, and finally a scribbled _third bracket on the Left._ I managed to make it halfway back to the common room without having to look at it, so I've improved since yesterday.

"Grindylow." I say and the wall slides sideways. I step through the doorway to find myself alone for the first time since leaving the Orphanage. It's pleasant. The room looks a lot more lived in than it did last night, the long black marble table is littered with scraps of parchment and the odd stack of books. Cloaks have been abandoned, draped over the backs of the green leather chairs, and quills and ink bottles have appeared all over the spindly tables. It's getting dark outside so there's nothing to see out of the windows, I sink down onto the floor, with my back against the front of a chair, in front of the left-hand fireplace.

First years have Astronomy tonight at midnight, so I have about five and a half hours to kill. I could do some homework, but I know I wouldn't be able to concentrate. I know what I want to do, I want to go and visit the Chamber. I had planned on going down there with Astrid, but she had insisted on being a prize idiot and now, suddenly, I'm fueled by a desire to go alone.

I check my watch, it's an old scuffed-up one that I found in my room at the Orphanage, left by the previous inhabitant, it tells me it's six fifty. Scrambling to my feet I feel I'd better check that I have everything I need for an expedition. My wand is safely stashed along my forearm, the handle tucked into my watch-strap, but what about my bag? I've had it with me since Flying class and the library, so I take it and hurry along to my dormitory. Just in case I get held up I take my Astronomy book, parchment, a couple of quills and ink. I make sure I have the scrap that I jotted down the phonetic Parseltongue sounds on, and I reach for my emergency food supplies. These consist of what i've managed to pilfer from the table at meal times, more out of habit than necessity. At the Orphanage food was strictly rationed, and I got good at sneaking extra bits from the table and back to my room. The pickings are better here than they were there, and it's not rationed, so I managed to procure a sausage sandwich from the breakfast table, two apples and a banana from lunch, and a beautiful, individual, chicken and leak pie from dinner. To be honest the last one was more necessary, I'd not eaten anything at dinner and I shoved that in my bag just before running over to talk to Astrid, it's still warm and my stomach rumbles.

I grin, imagining myself banqueting alone in the Chamber of Secrets, pack it all up, and head for the door. On the way along the first passageway through the dungeons I run into Ferne Arden and her other first year friends, Monica Johnson and Julia Styles.

"Where are you going, Vincent?" Ferne asks, turning as I walk past. "Don't you want a game of exploding snap?"

"No I'm going to the library." I lie, almost skipping past her with excitement. She shrugs and wonders off. If I think she's too disappointed then I'll sit with her during Astronomy to make up for it. I make my way out of the dungeons and pause. Back at the Orphanage there was a book on the shelf in the main common room called _Harry Potter and the Battles for Hogwarts_, it was by a D. Thomas who had apparently been in the same dormitory as Potter and later wrote an historical account of Potter's time here. It's a pretty scary book and the younger kids used to read sections of it aloud in an attempt to prove their bravery and the others' cowardice. Either way, because of the existence of that book, and there are probably a few others as well, everyone knows where the entrance to the Chamber is. It's useless knowledge to most because at no point is the correct parseltongue password written, so the secrets of the chamber stretch only as far as the girls bathroom on the first floor.

At this thought I head for the grand staircase and turn right at the top. The bathroom I'm heading for is above the great hall, and this part of the school is very quiet. I turn onto the corridor, which is lit with the gray light of dusk from the high, arched windows. Presently I come across the legendary graffiti: _The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware_, it glimmers dimly red on the stone wall.I know that after successive care takers had failed to remove it, it was left as a monument to the attacks and a bleak reminder of the violence the magical community is capable of. I snort as it occurs to me that I, of all people, know how the magical community can hold a grudge.

'_You'll have the honour of being a walking, talking, cliche._' Astrid's mocking words sound in my head as I reach out and take hold of the brass door handle and turn. The bathroom is empty and darker than the corridor had been. I slip inside and pull the door shut behind me, listening intently. Moaning Myrtle doesn't seem to be here, the silence is oppressive. A single drop from one of the taps echoes hollowly around the room and I start forward. Pulling my wand from the place where it's wedged against my wrist I wrack my brains for the word that will command light. "Lumos," I murmur, nothing happens, "_Lumos_", I try a different intonation and a pale light appears at my wand-tip. I've seen the Orphanage staff do this tons of times, but this is the first time i've tried it out.

Moving along the sinks I bend over to examine the taps and find the one I'm looking for, a curved serpent etched onto the side of the tap, just as the book had said. A shiver runs up my spine, I'm about to do something that hasn't been done for almost twenty years and has only been done by legends before me, living or dead. Painfully aware of my own insignificance, I clear my throat and remove the scribbled phonetic code I'd stuffed in my bag. Doing my best to imitate Albus's strangled hissing, I vocalize the syllables. Nothing happens. I try again. It takes four attempts in all, and then, suddenly, a grinding noise of stone moving against stone echoes around the empty silence and the basin falls away.

My heart sinks to my boots and a lump rises in my throat. I'd forgotten this bit, the fall into blackness. I hate heights. I sit down shakily on the tiled floor and hook my legs over the edge, shining my wand's pale light into the hole. I know I won't die, sense tells me that because the others did it without dying. I try to imagine the hole being only a meter deep and shift my bum towards the edge of the hole. My palms are sweaty and I'm feeling very sick. Then I think of Astrid, the angry look in her eyes as she told me to be _a bit more average_ and I realise that sitting here, sweating, I've never felt more so. Resolutely I shift my bag until it's in front of me, protecting my pie for the journey. My stomach gives a great rumble as I push myself off the edge. I try to keep my wand close to me as I fall and then begin twisting with the pipework. The passage I'm shooting down curves like a giant helter skelter at a very steep gradient, but other openings lead off to left and right. All too soon I skid to a halt and stand up in the corridor of secrets. I won't think about getting out just yet, I shine my wand tip on my watch and note that I have four and a half hours until Astronomy. Adjusting my bag, I set off along the stone passageway.

Around one sweeping bend I come across the collapsed pile of rubble and search around for the gap that Weasley made when Potter came here to fight the Basilisk. It's still here, some stones have fallen into it but they're easily removed and I pull myself through it. On the other side it's a short walk to the door, where the two serpents are entwined with green emeralds for eyes. It's just like the book had said and I get another spine shiver as I stand before it. Again I make the hissing noises and on the third attempt the snakes shift, looking down on me with complacently amused glints in their fabulously expensive eyes.

I pass through into the chamber itself, which is enormous, bigger than I could ever have anticipated, with towering stone pillars entwined with more serpents standing evenly down the length of it. The tops of these pillars are lost in darkness, and the whole chamber is filled with with an odd greenish light. It reminds me of the light in the Slytherin common room during the day, but I can't see any windows here. I make my way along landing echoing footfalls at every step and eventually arrive at the statue of Salazar Slytherin himself, at the feet of which lie the skeletal remains of the basilisk. Any sense of reverence for the occasion is now completely suppressed by my ravenous hunger, I sit myself down on the stone floor, open my bag and pull out my pie.


	13. Chapter 12 (part 2)

So here I am in the Chamber of Secrets, eating pie with Salazar Slytherin and his Basilisk. Not your average Tuesday night that's for sure. The pie is delicious, and as I sit here, munching away, I'm well aware of my tragic destiny in all the poetic magnitude of it. The last Deathling orphan, newly come into his full Slytherin heritage, sitting in the Chamber of legends that so few have entered, and yet so many have died to uphold the grisly ideology of. I look into the empty eye sockets of the beast before me and muse that at least the same fate befell its master, at the same hand as well. There's a thought. Imagine _being_ Harry Potter. Imagine having those memories. Imagine knowing that the dark legacy of a line of psychopaths had come to an end at my hand. It gives me vertigo just to think about it.

Not that it had all ended neatly with Potter's defeat of _He Who Must Not Be Named_. Fanatics lingered and continued his fight, though there was nothing left to fight for, and that eventually left people like me and Astrid, the refuse. I finish my pie and reach for the apple. I've often thought about why some lower Death Eaters clung to the Dark Arts so long after it all came tumbling down, and the only explanation I've been able to come up with is that they were desperate to achieve something, but they only way they thought they could do that was by pushing others down. Muggles and muggle borns, I've spent my life in a muggle area thanks to my mother's hijinks and that's quite the opposite result to the one she wanted to bring about.

I get to my feet and go for a wonder, strangely enough I feel safe here, relaxed, it's probably the solitude mixed with the layers of deep meaning attached to the place. I feel ponderous. It probably helps that thanks to Potter there's no deadly beastie to kill me with its deadly glance... yes, fearing for my life would take the calming element away from the place. I wonder amongst the columns examining the carved snakes. They're all different. Each pillar is made up of two snakes intertwined, and though from a distance they appear to have empty stone eye sockets, on closer inspection it turns out that they're surfaced with glass, which makes them glimmer in the greenish light.

Thinking of muggles and magical racism I remember my time at the Orphanage this summer. Astrid had lost no time setting me to work, and she'd started using me for distribution. It's highly illegal but we sell to muggles, and it was my job to go out with the bottles of Majik and meet the kids of the users at the broken down play park between the high-rises. The users themselves rarely came outside, they just sent their kids to get it for them and according to Astrid, kids hanging out at a park looks far less dodgy than one older kid handing out packages to a bunch of younger ones. The police used to ignore us, walking around in their groups of three, padded out with stab-vests looking like fluorescent wasps. The kids were a sad bunch, they looked perfectly normal at first, and then you started to notice the rings under their eyes, and the furtive way they angled their bodies that told me they'd been hit, a lot. I became friends with a couple of them, Daniel and Hannah. They used to run their loads home and then come back out and we'd share some spare that i'd snuck out, in the park.

That time seems a million years ago, and I've only been at Hogwarts two days! I twirl my wand as I cross to the middle of the Chamber and look up at the statue. It's an old thing, ancient and lonely. Towering high above in the shadows, Slytherin looks down at me, his mouth agape waiting for the Basilisk to return to its hibernation. He's been waiting a long time.

From a professional perspective, the Chamber is perfect, better than perfect. I just have to find my way out of here because there's only so far a single sausage sandwich and a banana will stretch. I cross to my banqueting site and hoist my bag onto my shoulder, take one last look at the remains of the beast, one last strained glance upwards at the face of Slytherin, then turn my back and head down the hall. The stone doors open silently ahead of me and I exit into the cold blackness. It's odd, but as the snakes on the doors close behind me the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I'd not got that with Slytherin's statue, but there's something about those emeralds that's _alive_. I shudder and say "_lumos_" loudly, like a protest.

The corridor of secrets is long, though I think it would feel shorter if it were well lit. It twists and turns and after about five minutes I get back to the rubble pile. After that it's a short two minute walk to the helter-skelter and I look upwards doubtfully. I walk up the smooth bottom part of the stone slide as far as I can go and shine my wand upwards. One pipe, about a foot wide, opens out on the left about two feet along and above me. I put my wand in my teeth and hook my hands into this, pulling myself up. There's another one a bit further around the pipe, angled more downwards, and I can just reach it. I get my foot in... nope, I slide down to the foot of the tunnel and scramble up again.

It suddenly dawns on me that no one knows I'm here. Al let slip the parseltongue, but there's no way he'd expect me to try it out. Astrid doesn't know. I know barely any spells, and there's no clear way out. Ok, so getting my foot into that pipeline suddenly becomes the most important achievement of my life to date. I try again. This time I get a hold in the second pipeline, and just above that one I can see a large opening, big enough to crawl inside of. Carefully this time I look around for a hand hold mid way along, a bit of brick has chipped away from the smooth surface, enough for a hold with two fingertips. I go for it, I fumble it, I fall. I realise at this point that I'm going to have to leave my bag behind if I'm going to get anywhere. This is a wrench, but I reason that while I can borrow someone else's Astronomy book during the lesson, if I try to take it all with me I might never make it to Astronomy. Again I get shakily to my feet, very aware of the fact that I'm getting tired and I now have no idea how long it will take for me to get out of here. I check that my parseltongue scribbles are still in my pocket and try again. Eventually, on the fifth attempt I get a foothold in the second pipeline and reach for the edge of the wide tunnel. If only I were taller, I feel so small and weedy as my skinny arms shake pulling me up and into it.

Sitting in the mouth of this one I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. My wand is still lit and I can see the blackness above and below me. Having said that, the tunnel I'm now in is about four feet high, high enough for me to crawl through, it must have been one of the Basilisk's main routs. I direct my wand instead further into this tunnel and decide I've got nothing to lose. It's hard going, the stone is warn smooth by the giant beast, but cold stone doesn't do much for my nobly knees. It feels like it goes on forever. At every turn I'm sure it will narrow to the size of a normal pipeline, and i'll have to turn back to the impossible helter-skelter, but it doesn't. It twists and turns upwards, ever upwards. At one point it gets so steep that I have to brace my legs against the floor and my back against the roof and crawl almost vertically. This part comes to an end after about five meters and levels out again. I daren't look at my watch, I have no idea what time it is, but all else seems irrelevant now.

Around another bend I see a patch of not-so-intense darkness ahead. I extinguish my wand and head towards this, hoping against hope that it's not a dead end. I come up against a grill, a metal grill that's delicately patterned so I know it belongs in a room of some kind, no one would waste design on an interior pipeline that no one will ever see. Even Slytherin didn't have that high a regard for the aesthetic concerns of his serpent. Disregarding any concerns for stealth I shift my stiff legs in front of me and boot it. It bows. I boot it again. One corner breaks off. I boot it a second time, aiming my strength at the bottom corner that's still attached. It gives way, angling upwards. I roll out of the pipeline onto the stone floor of an upper dungeon. It's not lit, but for small, slit windows with bars across them, near the arched ceiling, which allow in slithers of the moonlit night.

Laying there on the cold floor I start to laugh. It's hysteria more than anything, uncontrollable mirth. I can't believe I was so stupid, and I can't believe I survived. As the laughter dies I realise with humour that my life-threatening foray into the Chamber of Secrets is unlikely to make any history books, but i'm glad I did it. For one night it tried me, it nearly had me, but like the Slytherin I am, I slithered through its clutches. I light my wand tip and look at my watch, it's eleven forty-two. I scramble to my feet and head for the door. The room i'm in appears to be a disused classroom, it's dusty and forgotten. I pull on the door handle and come out in a corridor that I recognise to be just beyond the fork I take to potions class.

At that moment a voice whips through the air, "Hevoret? Was that you laughing like a hyena?" It's Professor Pucey, he's walking towards me from the direction of his classroom.

"No, Sir." I say quickly. He frowns as he draws level with me.

"You're a mess, where have you been?" I look down at my robes, which are torn around the knees and so dusty they're no longer even pretending to be black.

"Nowhere." I say. "I'm on my way to Astronomy, Sir." His eyes narrow as he looks at me.

"You've come the wrong way, Astronomy is up in the tower, not down in the dungeons."

"Yes, Sir."

"Off you go."

I turn and race towards the marble staircase. I have nothing on me but what I stand up in, and i've never felt so jubilant to be alive.


	14. Chapter 13

It's Friday morning and I'm starting to panic. My week is ending as it began, with me waking up early, muddling over the problem of premises. I've heard nothing from James since Jasper arrived with his order letter on Monday and I ponder the significance of this. There are three possibilities that I can think of, the first is that he's trusting me to get on, knowing that I'll contact him when I've solved the problem, the second is that he's giving me the silent treatment because he's angry with me for some reason, the third is that I'm laying in bed analysing his lack of contact like the fifteen year old that I am.

With a significant amount of disgust at myself I throw my covers to one side and shove my feet into my slippers with a consolatory level of aggression. I believe the time has come to pace the common room again. It's not as though I rely on James for counseling or anything, even when we were at school together he never coddled me. We were in different houses after all, I had to make my own way. It's kind of like me and Vincent, actually, and there's a point, I've only seen him once since I had a go at him on Tuesday. He had been walking through the entrance hall covered from head to toe with soil from a Herbology class and I'd been on my way up from Potions. As we passed one another he gave me this wicked glower, and then turned and talked to the Malfoy kid, purposefully ignoring me.

So maybe that's it, I'm concerning myself needlessly with whether or not James is giving me the silent treatment because I _know_ that Vincent is. Ah! I'm so sleep deprived I'm becoming a moron. The gilt covered books glint at me maliciously from their shelves, the looped writing on their spines reflects the pale morning sunlight, and the marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw remains impassive. All the wisdom that she could summon to her could never provide me with the answer, only the _method_ of finding it. I'd need to be a Slytherin for my house to lead me to the solution, and at that thought I laugh hollowly. I'm one of the few Deathlings that has escaped the double stigma of belonging to that house, and now I wish I hadn't.

The Gray Lady is normally good at showing up when I need a chat and today she fails in that duty. I pace for an hour and a half before I give it up for good, take myself back down to my dormitory and pull on some clothes. I have a pretty active day today, Care of Magical Creatures to start and Herbology to finish. Muggle Studies appears in the middle and that's sometimes good for a laugh, though normally deathly boring. In the last fifteen years it's become a compulsory subject, and I get that because it's no good trying to get the magical community to respect their non-magical counterparts if learning about them is seen as an optional extra.

I pull my black jeans on and a turtle-neck, Care of Magical Creatures can get cold out in the grounds, tuck my wand down the side of my boot and reach for my robes. Eva and Beth are sleeping late and I decide to leave them there. On the subject of muggle versus magical, quite a few magical families have phones now. I know this because Eva told me that when she was at school in her local village she'd be invited to other kids birthday parties and the parents of those kids would want to call her parents to arrange things. The Orphanage had one in case any of the magical kids did something weird at school and the matron, Mrs. Engels, was called to come and get them. This happened quite regularly, I was sent home once because I got a really bad cold and every time I sneezed a light bulb blew. This was apologised away by Mrs. Engels as something to do with pitch, and I had to stay at the Orphanage for a week until I'd stopped sneezing completely. Normally the incidents were harmless enough, but Vincent told me about a time when he was being picked on by this bunch of muggle kids, and the ringleader's hair went up in flames, _he had to go to St Mungos and everything!_ I didn't laugh like I was supposed to. He told me this when I'd just been made his mentor and it disturbed me some. Having said that, he got picked on a lot at school, whereas I got through almost unscathed, so I can't judge.

I'm heading down the marble staircase and I see some first year Slytherin girls emerge from the dungeons. Struck by a sudden idea I loiter around the giant hourglasses and wait. Hufflepuff are doing very well this term, next comes Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and a small pile of emeralds in the Slytherin jar. The teachers really should award house points more evenly, Slytherin hasn't won the House Cup since Potter arrived at Hogwarts. My musings on the inadequacy of human nature are brought to halt when I hear laughter from the archway into the dungeons, I wonder seemingly aimlessly across the hall and appear at Vincent's side just as he emerges.

"Do you mind if I borrow you, Vincent?" I ask brightly. His happy smile shrinks to a sour glower quicker than I can blink, but he nods once and for the fun of it I take him into the chamber in which Professor Augustin interrogated me.

"So what's the deal, Vincent?" I ask as I shut the door. "You're not talking to me?"

"I've been concentrating on being average." He says with a smirk.

"My arse you have. I had Potions right after you did yesterday and Professor Pucey made sure to inform me of the level of genius I'm mentoring. Did you enjoy concocting your forgetfulness potion so much that you forgot what I'd told you?" He's smiling now. "What's so funny?"

"I have something that you want." This trips me up. He's wondering around looking at the tapestries and completely ignoring my scolding, it's not even touching him.

"What's that?" My tone is careful now. He's clearly in a dangerous mood and if he really does have something I want or need then I have to know and I have to have it. He turns to look at me from the other side of the room.

"Any luck with the Chamber yet?" I scowl.

"None. Why?"

"How have you been going about it?" I realise he's probably got a book that will give me a clue and I narrow my eyes. He's got nerve, that's for sure. Here he is, a first year Slytherin with barely any spell-knowledge, riddling with a Ravenclaw who could bring him to his knees in less than a second. Having said that, he didn't need a wand to set that kids hair on fire, so I decide to play along.

"Looking through books, trying to get a stroke of inspiration. Why? Does Slytherin house have knowledge that Ravenclaw doesn't?"

"Clearly." He says, turning back to a tapestry that depicts a burning witch and a mob. "But the information you need comes from Gryffindor."

"Oh spit it out, Vincent, I'm hungry." And tired and impatient, but I leave those ones out.

"I can get you into the Chamber." He says this to the wall.

"And how's that? You've found a book that tells you that only a Slytherin can get in there and you think it will open for you? Or have you been doing a touch of genealogy and discovered you're somehow his heir?"

"I've already been down there." He turns to face me now.

"How? When?" He's looking me straight in the face for once, his creepy eyes triumphant. I give myself a shake.

"How? Because I've been talking to people rather than ignoring them. When? On Tuesday."

"Tuesday?"

"Tuesday."

"And when were you thinking of telling me?" He moves on to the next tapestry.

"I was going to tell you straight away. I thought we could go together, but then when I came to talk to you, you had a go at me for no reason and I decided to go on my own." He glowers into the wall.

I'm quiet for a little while. It's easy to be angry with myself at the moment, and I can see why it happened like it did, but I'll be damned if I apologise.

"Alright, Vincent. When are we going down there?" He turns in my direction, eyes wondering somewhere near the ceiling.

"Tonight if you like. Can you do a spell that will get us out of a really deep hole?"

"Yes, I think so. Wouldn't levitation do it?" He shrugs and heads for the door.

"Whatever. I can get us out anyway, but it would make things easier if you could help. I really want some sausages." His hand is on the door latch and he pauses. "Anything else?"

"Meet you in the Entrance Hall after dinner?" I ask, helplessly. He nods once and leaves the room. I feel like I've been interrogated twice this week and I don't like it. My bruised ego is greatly massaged by the thought of our forthcoming adventure. I'm burning with questions, but I guess they'll have to wait until later. I hurry into the hall and slump into a seat opposite Eva and Beth, who are slumped in their seats looking sleepy, clutching large mugs of coffee.

"Where have you been?" Beth asks, dipping a single toast finger into a soft boiled egg.

"Performing duties as a mother hen." I say, grabbing some toast and considering the virtues of scrambled eggs as opposed to marmalade. Marmalade wins. There's a rushing sound overhead and owls pour into the hall. No Jasper. I'll send James a letter with one of the school owls after Herbology. An Eagle Owl carrying a bag of newspapers lands next to Eva, who puts her four sickles in his pouch and takes one, giving him a tip in the form of a crispy bit of bacon. The owl takes off again pausing throughout the hall so that student subscribers can pay up.

"What's the damage today?" I ask, pouring myself a steaming mug of tea from a large pot on the table.

"Shaklebolt's threatening to retire again." She says in a bored voice. "But he says that at least once a year so it's not really news anymore."

"You say that, but Huxley looks like he could actually do the job, so this time there's someone who might be able to take over." Beth says, as she attacks her now yolk-less egg with a spoon.

"I'll believe it when I see it." Eva replies, skipping through. "Ok, nothing interesting, so how about we hear our fates with Mistress Patil?"

I groan, but lean forward so that I can hear the damage. Mistress Patil performs the same function for the Daily Prophet as those muggles who write horoscopes for fashion magazines. She's a bit of an institution, having read the palms of most of the notable witches and wizards of the age, and authored three books. Rumour has it that she's constantly trying to get a post at Hogwarts as Professor of Divination, but Vector won't have it.

"Astrid, you're supposed to be humble today so that you might learn the things you need to from others." Eva begins, scanning my prediction.

"Hah," Beth grins, "Good job we don't have Potions today." I laugh at this, but I'm a bit unnerved by the accuracy of it. Still, they're meant to be vague enough to apply to everyone so I shake it off.

"Beth, uncertainty and shifting grounds can mark the day's outcomes, and confidence may retreat in the face of a challenge."

"Ah hah!" I say, triumphant. "We're doing Hippogriffs first thing, you'd better be careful Beth."

"And I'm going to receive high praise today, and I should use this to bolster my position for later in life." Eva says, folding up the paper, shoving it in her bag, and taking a last gulp of coffee.

"You always get the best predictions." Beth moans as we all stand up.

"Not always. I got a death omen in the first week of May."

"We all did." I point out. "It was the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. It's tradition."

We refresh our mugs with coffee and tea and take them with us into the grounds. This is strictly against the rules, but it's the first lesson of the day and a fine drizzle has settled over the grounds. These factors combine with the sense of entitlement that getting to OWL year brings, and see us nursing our beverages all the way down the rocky path to the classroom cabin at the edge of the forest.


	15. Chapter 14

I skip out of the side chamber with a massive grin on my face. Getting one over on Astrid was worth every day I waited to tell her about the Chamber. I run the length of Slytherin table and drop into a seat next to Blaise and opposite Malfoy.

"Who is that girl, Vincent?" Blaise asks in an offhand manner as I dive into the nearest platter of sausages and help myself to brown sauce.

"Astrid?" I say, with my mouth full. "She's my mentor. At the Orphanage every first year is teamed with an older student to be their mentor through school."

"And it doesn't matter about their House?" As Scorpius says this I note that he's stirring jam into his porridge this morning. So far this week he's tried one of each combination: sugar, honey, cocoa, syrup, and now jam.

"No, they're allocated at the beginning of the summer holidays before we go. Astrid had one and he was a Gryffindor."

"What year's she in?" Blaise asks, their curiosity is amusing to me. I feel like I know things and I make the most of it.

"Fifth." I say, pouring out some tea. Louis Bentley saunters towards us and sits down next to Scorpius without looking at him. Bentley's got more bearable in the last week but he never seems to look at Scorpius or me and I think it's because of our Deathling connection. Some people can't bear being tainted by association. Still, it's a bit late now. Very few Slytherins are free from family connections with You-Know-Who.

"Who was her mentor?" Scorpius asks, "Has he left Hogwarts?"

"James Haggard. And yer, he left a year ago. She stays in touch, mentors become like our family. By extension J.C. is almost like my big brother."

"James Haggard?" Blaise looks more interested now, "I've heard that name. My mother's mentioned him before."

"If he's just left school he's about the right age for your mother." Bentley drawls. Hector Blaise's mother is a magical beauty who apparently often appears in the gossip section of WitchWeekly. Blaise slaps the back of Bentley's hand with his fork and carries on regardless, he seems immune to these jibes but every now and again I see a vein twitching in his temple and I suspect that one day he'll explode.

"What does he do?" He asks calmly. I shrug.

"This and that. I don't really know. It's tough for people like us to find regular employment." No one speaks as suddenly they become very interested in their breakfasts. I contemplate a sixth sausage as the post owls begin pouring into the hall. Bentley gets another letter from home and begins reading it immediately, and Scorpius gets a load of chocolate frogs in celebration of his first week at school. He gives one to each of us and we all rip into them except Bentley, who ignores the offering completely.

"Who did you get?" Blaise asks as he traps his frog under an empty goblet while he examines his card.

"Longbottom." I say. There's a picture of Professor Longbottom looking heroic and holding the Sword of Gryffindor.

"I've got about three of him." Blaise says, dismissing the opportunity to swap. I pocket mine happily enough, my collection is still very meagre. "Scorpius?"

"Merlin!" He says happily, "They're getting quite rare and I needed one of him!" Blaise looks a bit miffed, I can see that Merlin is missing from his collection too.

"Aren't you going to see what card you've got, Louis?" I ask boldly. I feel confrontational today. Blaise and Scorpius stop examining their cards and look up. Louis takes his time in replying.

"I wrote to mother on the first day we were here, and I told her I got into Gryffindor." This pronouncement is followed by an awkward silence.

"But you didn't. You're in Slytherin." Scorpius points out. His pale face is flushing. Bentley looks at none of us.

"I know. But you don't know what they're like, they'll be so disappointed when they find out." Blaise clicks his tongue and stows whatever card he got as Bentley continues. "The thing is that now she's told my Aunt, and she's set up a trust fund because she's so proud, and it feels like a lie."

"That's because it is a lie." Scorpius says, taking back the offered chocolate frog and cramming it into his bag.

"What's a trust fund?" I ask.

"Money." Scorpius snaps. "Big money set aside for when you're older. If your Aunt is offering you money for not being in Slytherin, then her money is worth nothing anyway. Slytherin will teach you to earn your own." With that he storms off along the table towards the Entrance Hall. Bentley looks uncomfortable and Blaise begins to tear his frog in two so that they can share.

"Bit rich coming from him." Blaise says in an undertone. "If he knows about trust funds then he's got one, you can bet your sweet life." Bentley smiles a bit at this. "He is right though, you've got to tell them. What were you planning on doing? Waiting until Professor Pucey writes to them instead of Augustin and then trying to explain?"

"I don't know." He says. "But the trust fund is really important. My father had one and he's now Head of Magical Communications."

"Well I have no money and I'm expecting to manage. At least you're not a Deathling." I say, bleakly.

"You never know." Blaise says after a pause. "They might not take it too badly." Silence falls amongst us and we get up to leave. It's Potions first and we head out into the Entrance Hall and then back down into the dungeons. We collide with a bunch of Gryffindors halfway down the passage and Bentley immediately pairs off with McLaggen. I hear him say, "Got an owl from father today, he says your family are going to spend Christmas in our Highland House," before I stop paying attention.

Classes keep us busy all day. In Potions, Professor Pucey had everyone working on their abilities curing Boils and brewing forgetfulness, depending on which one they found most challenging during the week, while I researched the ten uses of Dragons Blood. This is challenging because while I find the processes of making potions simple enough, I've never had to know any of the theory before. I think Pucey has realised this because he's set me more research as homework.

In Transfiguration we're still working on turning matches into needles. Since my sojourn into the Chamber of Secrets my wand has become a lot more co-operative. In my last lesson I managed to turn my match silver, though it still ignited when run along a rough surface, today I managed to create an eye and a slight point at the opposite end. Professor Augustin managed a slight smile when I produced this and told me that I had shown '_much improvement.' _I beat Al, who had just managed a metal stick, and about halfway through the class there was a great diversion when Ferne's friend, Monica Johnson, set her desk on fire. Rose Weasley is her mother's daughter. At the beginning of class Professor Augustin placed an entire box of matches in front of her, and by the end she'd produced a range and displayed them in size order. Al doesn't seem to mind but I find her irritating.

We have Charms with the Hufflepuffs, and from across the classroom I can see that little Nadine Barnes is making friends with the other first year girls. We're learning levitation, and I'm quite glad I don't have to watch Rose Weasley hovering heavy objects across the ceiling. After thirty-five minutes of going red in the face with effort, I begin to wave my wand and simultaneously blow my feather to make it look like I'm achieving something. Professor Brocklehurst was not convinced and she set me extra homework to perfect the hover charm before my next lesson, which is Monday, so that doesn't give me much time.

I storm out of the class feeling put upon. It's only Friday and I've been expected to manage a lot in one week. Going from simple multiplication, history, and the reading scheme, to transforming matches into needles, and then making them float, while intermittently risking my neck with only a glorified plank of wood between me and plummeting to my death, is not an easy transition. Professor Brocklehurst is a reedy little witch with wiry brown hair going gray at the temples. I can see her prejudice and it doesn't help. She treats Scorpius the same, he's pretty good at Charms, he managed to levitate his feather a meter in this lesson and she barely looked up. She hates Deathlings. The thing is that I don't really feel much like talking to Scorpius at the moment. He's bruised because he's proud of his house and Bentley thinks it's shameful, but if Blaise is right then he'll get all the head-starts he needs. None of them understand. I have a mother but she's as good as dead for all the good she's doing me, and I've never spoken to her, and she's probably mad by now, or worse. The best I can do is manage to get through school without debt by brewing illegal potions and selling them to muggles. What a joke. We get going on this and every day we risk being discovered and all of us ending up in Azkaban. Well at least that way I might get to meet my mum. What a happy reunion that will be.

I've lost the others by the time I get to the Library, I hurry past Mr. Drummond on my way in and head to the back desk again. To my surprise I run into Ferne Arden in an aisle of books dedicated to Potions.

"Looking up dragon's blood?" She asks when she sees me. I nod and drop to my knees in front of the lower shelves.

"What are you looking at?"

"Method." She says flatly. I look up and am surprised to see that she's been crying.

"Are you alright?" I ask. She nods. "Do you want some help?" She nods again.

I stand up and silently we head to a desk.

"How are you so good?" She asks after a little while of setting out parchment and ink. I shrug.

"Why are you upset?" She's not looking at me. Her large eyes are swimming again beneath her thick glasses and I avert my eyes.

"You're a Deathling aren't you?" I nod. "Can you keep a secret?" I nod again. Honestly I don't know if this is true, I've never kept a secret that it would benefit me to tell, but I'm curious.

"My father died seven years ago today. He was a Death Eater." I stay very still, and luckily for me she takes my frozen form as sympathetic. "He was a member of Rufus Cephas's faction." Cephas and Tink Ansgar had been rivals, their ideologies differing slightly. Ansgar wanted muggles to serve those of magical blood as their slaves, Cephas wanted to erase muggles completely. Ansgar was a tyrant, Cephas was a lunatic.

I swallow, hard, and manage to say "and your mother?"

Ferne shakes her head, "she never knew, she's a witch and she was in Hufflepuff. She's worried because I'm in Slytherin." I roll my eyes while she reaches for a book, not another one. I can't stand talking another one through the shame, I have enough on my mind as it is. "What about your parents?"

"Both Ansgar." I reply bleakly, "Both dead." She nods. "So what don't you understand about potion methods?"

Ferne smiles weakly at me. It's not like I have too much sympathy for her, she's half clean and a person can get far enough on that. I wonder briefly whether or not she has a trust fund as well, before we crack on with homework. For me, dinner can't come soon enough.


	16. Chapter 15

I hover near the entrance to the Great Hall after a very hurried dinner and it seems to me that Vincent is taking his time. It's just like him to be leisurely about a meal when he knows I'm impatient. I'm craning my neck to see if I can spot him at the Slytherin table and I really can't so I turn around and leap about a foot in the air. He's standing right behind me, his creepy eyes wide with excitement.

"Sh*t, Vincent! Say something next time, alright?" He nods once and his eyes move to hover somewhere over my left shoulder. "Shall we?" He nods again and turns. I glance into the Great Hall and see that Professor Augustin is still at the staff table, deep in conversation with Professor Clearwater. We're clear. I follow Vincent up the staircase and realise for the first time that he has a really funny walk. It looks stiff and stompy but, as was just proven, he moves silently, which is a strange combination to reconcile in my head.

He turns right at the top of the stairs and heads along a corridor that's darker than most. Silently we make our way forwards until we draw level with the writing on the wall. It glimmers as though it's still wet and I shudder. It's at moments like this that I am brought face to face with the stark ambiguity of Hogwarts, the school that makes space for heroes and villains alike. Wondering vaguely which one I would count as, Vincent pushes open the door to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I've been in here before, but it was a few years ago and on a rainy day when I had nothing else to do. I came for the sheer hell of it really, a bit of student tourism. Now I have a reason to be here the place looks more sinister in its habitual gloom than it did then, when the dim light merely added to the atmosphere. Back then Hogwarts was like a wonderland with its bright fireplaces, floating candles, brightly coloured paintings, tapestries, and creaking suits of armour. The whole place filled me with wonder and excitement. Now it feels like someone's sucked the resolution out of the image, all I see are the frayed edges and the cracked window panes. I suppose that's what stress does to a person.

I hear Vincent murmur _"Lumos"_ ahead of me and light appears. Briefly I wonder whether or not this place holds the same magic for him as it did for me, before I do the same and we move forward. There's a strange gurgling sound coming from one of the end cubicles, Myrtle's about. Vincent pauses, listens, and then moves towards the line of cracked sinks presided over by heavily tarnished mirrors. He approaches the third one along from the right, and points to the edge of the tap. I know what this is, of course, the engraved snake. I nod, and he backs away a pace. I catch sight of his face in the mirror, pale and pointed with that shock of dark hair. His eyes look genuinely ghost-like in the wand-light and he seems to be collecting himself. Slowly he begins to emit this strange strangled hissing sound and tingles run up and down my spine. Nothing happens. He tries again and this time there's a grinding sound as the whole sink unit drops away to reveal a black hole. Silence falls once more. The gurgling has come to a stop, a singular drop falls and the sound echoes off the tiles making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I have butterflies, genuine butterflies. I'm going intermittently numb from head to foot as I stand there, trying to keep a hold of reality in the half-light.

Vincent sits himself down on the edge of the hole, I can see him pause. "Are you alright?" I hear myself whisper, he nods once before pushing off the edge. I see the light from his wand momentarily illuminate a black tunnel lined with smooth bricks, before he turns a corner and any evidence that he was ever there is gone. I take a deep breath. I have nothing on me except for my wand and I sit myself down on the edge of the hole. _How did he know? How did he do this in his first week of school?_ I have no way of knowing all the time I sit on the tiles of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, with trembling hands I push myself off and with an unpleasant jerk in my stomach descend rapidly into darkness.

The tunnel twists and turns in a smooth spiral as I slide ever downwards. I tuck my wand close to my chest to avoid catching it on the brick lining, though, from what I can see as I race along, the bricks are still perfectly aligned and undamaged. Smaller pipes lead away in all directions from this main one, and some are large enough to crawl into. I plunge deeper and deeper and just as I'm forgetting that I ever intended to reach the bottom, I do. I skid out onto a level in a pitch black tunnel. I can see Vincent ahead of me checking something on the ground. On landing my robes have pulled up around my armpits and I scramble to my feet, hastily rearranging myself.

"What are you doing?" I ask, Vincent is still crouched on the ground over by the rough wall of the tunnel.

"Checking my bag. I had to leave it down here on Tuesday night. My Astronomy book's still in here, and so's my sandwich, but it's gone stale."

I blink at this and because I can't find the words to respond to all of the questions that spring to mind I turn and point my wand back up the tunnel. The edges are worn smooth and so is the floor, but the walls and ceiling are rough, hewn, rock. The pipe we came out of is so steep it's almost sheer, and I crane my neck upwards.

"How the hell did you get out of here, Vincent?" I ask, without conjuring a rope, or being able to levitate I honestly can't see how it could be done.

"I climbed. Shall we get going then?" I tear my eyes away and see that he's standing further off waiting for me, his eyes glinting like cats eyes in the gloom. We head along the tunnel, the edges of which are littered with small animal bones. It's oppressively silent. I can hear my footfalls echoing off the stone walls and ceiling, but only mine, Vincent's don't make a sound. After some time we come to the part where the ceiling caved in, and Vincent disappears through a hole big enough to crawl through, but not necessarily big enough for a large cauldron. I make note of this obstacle and follow. After the rock pile the tunnel bends to the right and eventually we come to a large, ornate door, decorated with two serpents intertwined with emeralds for eyes. Vincent clears his throat and begins his vocal hissing routine once more. On the third attempt the door swings silently open and we pass through into a cavernous chamber. The butterflies in my stomach dance as I blink through the greenish light that illuminates the hall. Squinting upwards the roof is almost completely obscured by gloom.

It's a lot plainer than I thought it would be. The design is geometric, and the vast statue of Salazar Slytherin that stands before us is primitive in its simplicity. The only place where extravagance is visible is in the carved pillars, which are beautifully rendered intertwined snakes. Squinting forward I can see that each is unique, and represents a different breed.

Vincent has stalked off towards the other end and has sat down on the stone floor next to the Basilisk skeleton. I suppress a shudder, the thing is huge, bigger than huge, and a reluctant part of me recognises Potter's heroism. Vincent glances at it casually.

"Do you think we should name it?" He asks.

"If you want." I say, "So tell me, Vincent, how did you come by the knowledge to get in here?"

His eyes fix on a pillar to his left as he says, "Al told me."

"Al?"

"Albus, Potter." I nod, once.

"Does he know you came down here?" He shakes his head. I take a deep breath and turn away from his impassive glare to wonder amongst the pillars. It really is a fabulous place. More pipes open up away from the chamber which will provide excellent ventilation. The ceiling height is good too, which will mean the vapours don't get too thick. The momentary excitement I felt on coming down here has disappeared and I now give the place an appraising look. Yes, this will work, in fact we'll have so much room to brew we'll be able to expand the business. The Shack was ok, but the rooms weren't huge so only two or three work stations could be set up in each one before the vapours and the head got too much. I remember the original room in the dungeons and that was comparatively tiny. Suddenly I'm overwhelmed by an enormous wave of depression. Have I become so jaded that I find myself in the Chamber of Secrets, the legendary space where only legends have walked before me, and all I can think about is profit margins? I suppose so. Vincent's voice echoes towards me from the end of the hall.

"Astrid?"

"Yup?" I call back.

"Want some?"

"Want some what?" If he's offering me stale sandwich then I'll leave him down here and he can climb back out again.

"Majik." Comes the reply. I stride out into the middle of the chamber and stare the length of the hall at him.

"Where did you get that?" I can see him grinning as I begin to walk forwards.

"The operation room back at the Orphanage."

"What is it?" I ask, already knowing the answer as I draw level with him and see a glass phial filled with blood-red liquid.

"Kuku."

"How much have you got?" I knew Vincent was devious, but suddenly a lot of his behaviour is falling into place and confirming him as a seasoned thief. Who else sneaks food from the table and walks around with sandwiches in their school bag?

"Do you want some or not? I thought we could celebrate." I sigh deeply and look at my watch it's six fifty-three. Of course I want some, I always want some, and right now I need it. I reach out, grasp the offered bottle, unstopper it and take a large swig. The sensation is like nothing else on this earth. All thoughts of profit and business and school and exams and Professor Augustin melt away. My limbs become weightless and irrelevant. Someone takes something from me and a very long way away I can see Vincent holding a bottle of Majik, watching with a wicked smile on his pointed face. I can feel a soft warmth creeping through my limbs and I become distantly aware of the fact that I'm laying down. The shadowy ceiling swims in my vision and the light that fills the room turns from green to red to blue to yellow to lilac to orange to white and eventually blackness creeps into the corners of my vision, swallowing up reality and replacing it with a void, an emptiness, a calm sea of expressionless nothing. Points of light appear in the distance of my mind. Constellations blossom and form on all sides of me. I am suspended in the universe. More stars wink into view becoming infinitely coloured. The spectrum opens up on all sides of me as clouded nebula form and light dances overhead from a planet-less aurora. I am walking through a sea of stars. Every footfall sends ripples across an invisible surface. The points of light swim below me. I am barefoot. I am naked in the void. I reach out my hand and I see nothing before me but uninterrupted stars. I have no body. It is my consciousness that makes the ripples.


	17. Chapter 16

The stars are going out one by one. I can see the blackness around me fading back to white, and then to turquoise, and then to gold, and then to red, blue, green. The ceiling of the Chamber swims into view. I hear a groan beside me and Astrid's head appears in my peripheral vision as she sits up. Groggily, she points her wand into the air in front of her and mutters _Quid Tempore_. A bright golden outline of a clock appears and glimmers in the air, I frown in concentration as I try to make sense of the slender arms. The short one is hovering somewhere between the eight and the nine, and the long hand points at the three. Hmmm, that doesn't seem right. With great effort I push my arm into the air and look at my watch. It's eight fifteen. Eight fifteen at night or in the morning?

"Vincent, we have to go." Astrid's voice is still distant in my ears and it echoes loudly out of the void. I roll onto my side and attempt to get up. I'm cold. Seriously cold. My fingers are blue and I can feel my joints grinding as I use one far-away arm to push myself up from the stone floor. I wobble to a standing position and my vision begins to clear. I look at Astrid. She's frowning as she gazes around, her head swaying precariously on her neck.

"Sh*t, Vincent, what was in that stuff?"

"Kuku." I reply, my voice sounds thick. She shakes her head, groans, then holds it still.

"Kuku doesn't do this." She's right. Kuku knocks you out for a few hours and then you come-to feeling fresh and more alive than ever, if a little twitchy. "When did you stash that?"

My brain hurts as I think about it. "July. No, June."

"It must get stronger with age. We've been out cold for over twelve hours." She begins to stagger towards the end of the hall and I follow. Our footsteps echo off the stone walls, and the Basilisk's eye sockets leer mockingly. I feel like I'm swimming through air as I stagger out of the chamber in Astrid's wake. With every step my vision and hearing become clearer, while my head pounds. We get to the rock slide and slump against the side of it.

"Astrid, I need to do something, my head's not right. What can I take?"

She groans, and throws herself head-first through the hole in the stone. She doesn't talk to me the whole way back through the corridor of secrets. At the mouth of the tunnel she pulls her wand out and grabs me uncomfortably under the arms. She then points her wand at my bag and says, _Wingardium Leviosa!_

My bag jerks upwards and we begin to rise steadily. Astrid groans behind me and my head spins faster than the tunnel winds and I almost pass out. We shoot out into the bathroom and Astrid shouts, _Finite Incantatem!_ We sprawl on the tiles and Astrid staggers towards a cubicle. I hear her vomiting violently.

After a few minutes I hear a jeering sing-song voice say, "Oh you _do_ look a mess!"

"F*ck off Myrtle!" Astrid says thickly and then vomits again.

"Naughty words belong to naughty, _nasty_, girls." My head pounds, I shut my eyes and groan. The bathroom is a lot brighter in the daylight than it ever has been when I've visited before, and the gleaming tiles hurt my eyes. I squint painfully at the ceiling and see the ghost of a girl floating two inches above my head. I shout, roll across the floor and scramble up.

"The last boy to visit _my_ bathroom was Harry Potter." She says. "Who are you?"

"I find that very hard to believe." Astrid says, as she stumbles out of the cubicle. Her face is an unhealthy shade of gray and her pupils are enormous. I suddenly realize why it hurts to see. "The bathroom of legends has been empty since the last legend left?"

Myrtle drifts over the sinks ponderously picking at a spot on her chin. "Ooo no, there have been lots of visitors, they look around and go. Or they come in to throw something at me."

"I can't imagine why." Astrid says. "Alright kiddo, let's get out of here." My stomach gives a great rumble as I stagger forwards. Myrtle zooms to the end cubicle as we head for the door.

"Astrid, help, my head!"

"Go to the hospital wing if you want pain medication. Just don't tell Madam Bones anything." At the end of the corridor she stops and leans against the stone wall. "Ok, Vincent, I'm going to tell everyone we've cracked it, and I'll tell them to gather in that bathroom after dinner. Will you be there?" I nod once, and it hurts so much I have to shut my eyes.

Astrid stumbles for the stairs and heads down towards the Great Hall. I can smell breakfast and my stomach gives a great rumble, but my head pounds worse than ever and I reason that it's no good eating something if I'll end up throwing it up anyway. The hospital wing isn't far so I push towards it squinting at my feet so that I don't have to let too much light in my eyes.

"What's the matter, Hevoret?" Madam Bones calls as I push the door open. She remembers me from earlier in the week and the sound of her clear voice makes me wince.

"Headache." I say, stumbling forwards.

"Good lord!" She proclaims, walking forwards until she stands right in front of me. I try to look at her but there's a window right behind her head which makes this exercise far too demanding. "It looks like a lot more than a headache." She tilts my head back and tuts, "well I'll give you something for the pain and then I'm going to ask you some questions." I'm beyond caring. My head throbs and I sink into one of the narrow beds.

"Drink this." She says, pushing measured cup of green liquid into my hand. I obey. The pain washes away from my head, from my limbs, from my eyes, from everywhere!

"What is that stuff?" I ask in wonderment as I shake my head and the last throb dies away.

"Angel's Trumpet Draught." She replies. "It's strong stuff, and expensive, but you look like you need it." I nod once, and mercifully it doesn't hurt. "So," she says, in a business-like tone, "what have you been taking?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, putting on my best innocent voice.

"You look like death-warmed-up, and your pupils are the largest I've seen since leaving St Mungo's. I worked for a while on the rehabilitation ward." I look at the door behind her. She's come to sit on the bed opposite me. She seems concerned rather than angry and I'm prepared to bet that if I was an older student she'd have sent for Professor Vector by now, which is perhaps why Astrid went straight down to breakfast.

"I didn't take anything." I say, determinedly.

"What did you drink last night?" She asks, frowning.

"Pumpkin juice." I say, and for the first time in this conversation I'm honest.

"Well," she concludes, standing up, "either you're lying, or someone slipped something in your goblet while you weren't looking." I blink. "Keep an eye out, Hevoret, there are some dangerous potions around and some people think it's funny to doll them out, whether you want them or not." I nod once, and she gives me a final appraising look. "Be on your way."

I scamper out of the hospital wing and race down to breakfast. According to the large clock in the entrance hall it's five past nine, but it's Saturday so apparently Breakfast is served until a bit later. I catch sight of Scorpius's white-blonde hair at the end of the table and head towards him, passing Blaise who is sitting with his sister this morning.

"Morning!" I say brightly, that Angel's Trumpet Draught has made me feel amazing. Scorpius looks up and frowns.

"Where were you last night? We were considering telling someone when you still hadn't shown up and the rest of us were heading to bed." He has set his empty bowl of porridge aside and has the newspaper open in front of him, a mug of tea held delicately in his pale hands.

"I was in an empty classroom practicing levitation and fell asleep." I invent wildly, pulling a stack of toast and a bowl of steaming hot baked beans towards me and sorting myself out a generous breakfast.

"And no one found you?" He's still frowning.

"Obviously not. I woke up freezing with a massive headache, so I went to Madam Bones and she gave me this amazing potion. What's in the news?" I finish in an effort to change the subject.

"Huxley's complaining about the state of things again. He's got some good points, I think I might write to father this afternoon and ask him about it."

"Did Huxley come here?" I ask, through a mouthful of beans.

Scorpius shakes his head. "No, he was home schooled. Apparently his father raised him to be Minister for Magic, he learnt all about magical history and politics from the age of six."

"What about muggle school?" I glance upwards, the sky is a smooth, bright, gray colour that threatens rain without too much conviction. We'll probably get drizzle.

"He didn't go. His father was against the idea."

"Why?" I ask, shoveling more food onto my fork.

"Some parents don't like it. I was home schooled until now." I look at him blankly. He always seemed so normal, in a pampered and spoilt kind of way. He glances up and obviously catches my expression. "It's ok, I don't hate muggles."

"Do your parents?" I know I'm being very un-subtle, but that potion has given me a reckless sort of energy.

"Not really." He says, shaking the paper out and turning a page. "Put it this way, in my family it's a big step to _not_ hate muggles, so it will take a few years before we're going to school with them." He scans a few more pages and then folds the paper precisely along its creases, placing it exactly in line with the edge of the table. "It's alright for you, your parents are dead, so although you get the whole Deathling thing, at least you're raised like everyone else. My parents are still alive and they can raise me as they see fit." I look into my tea cup. My mother isn't dead, and I'm beginning to feel bad for telling everyone that she is. Still, it doesn't make much difference now. "Do you fancy a walk? I don't think it will rain and I don't want to do homework yet." Scorpius says, glancing at the ceiling.

I nod once, and we get to our feet. I grab two slices of toast as we make our way along the table, wrap them in a napkin, and slide them into my bag, nobody notices and I head for the doors grinning from ear to ear.


	18. Chapter 17

Today has disappeared. After throwing up everything I had I attempted to enter the Great Hall for some breakfast, got repelled by the scent of sausages, staggered up to Ravenclaw Tower, couldn't make my brain work long enough to get in, got rescued by Emery Benson, told him about the Chamber, and then went to sleep for eight hours. I woke up at about six o'clock starving hungry, but otherwise alright. Dinner never tasted so good before, and I'm now feeling like a close approximation to myself. I have to write to James, not only to give him a progress report, but to tell him what happens to Kuku when it's aged a few months. It's interesting that the trip itself wasn't affected, so far as experiences go it was up there with the best, but the charm of Kuku is that it gives you the dream state and leaves you fresh. Today I feel the opposite.

I get to Moaning Myrtle's and find the bathroom full of people, all of whom are standing around awkwardly listening to the girl ghost, who's sitting on a sink picking at a spot and talking utter rubbish.

"Oh yes _Harry_ and I were great friends, he was _always_ coming to visit me in my bathroom, and sometimes _I_ went and visited _him_. There are so many bathrooms in this castle and _I _know them _all_." Myrtle is a ghost characterized by a combination of gloating spite, and fragile emotional outbursts. After her behaviour this morning I have no remorse in getting rid of her entirely, especially as she could be a witness to our criminal activity if she stuck around.

"Right." I say loudly over her lecture, "has everyone brought the object they most want to throw at Myrtle?" Emery Benson, Marisa Zalvidar, and Tony Cartwright all reach inside their robes as if searching. Myrtle's face puckers.

"What do you mean?" She asks sulkily.

"I mean we've all come here to chuck stuff at you. It's a new type of after school therapy, now if you wouldn't mind staying exactly where you are..." As I say this I pull an ink bottle out of my pocket and pretend to aim. The effect is instantaneous, Myrtle gives a great wail, rises into the air, flies over all of our heads, and disappears with a splash down the end toilet.

"She'll haunt you if you're not careful." Tony says, leaning back against the wall and twirling his wand between his long, spidery fingers. It's those digits that make him the best Keeper the Slytherin Quidditch team has ever had, a Quaffle doesn't stand a chance.

"I'll take my chances." I say, putting the ink bottle back in my pocket and looking around. "Is Vincent here yet?"

"No." Benson says quickly. "And neither are Alexis, Billy or Yvonne. Did he really discover the secret by himself?" Emery sounds both skeptical and impressed.

"He was told by the new Potter kid." I say, wandering over to the sinks. "He's managed to make friends with him, against all odds."

"He is odd, so maybe the odds are with him." Says Tony with a wry sideways smile. He's a handsome guy, tall, dark, with a steady gaze and a sarcastic manner. I'd probably fancy him if I didn't have a million other things to think about. A few people laugh and I find myself smiling, Vincent is odd, there's no getting away from that and at that moment the door bangs open. Alexis Graham, Billy Kellermann, Yvonne Chadwick, and Vincent walk in chattering away together. They're all Slytherins, which just goes to show that Slytherin House is like an extension of the Orphanage, of the ten members of the organisation, six are Slytherins. Me and Emery are the Ravenclaw representatives, while Grace Walters and John Faraway are Gryffindors. Orphans do end up in Hufflepuff, but they're all LongLove kids, no Death Eaters hailed from Hufflepuff and sorting often follows family patterns.

Vincent stalks forwards staring at me, I shudder and step aside. "You'll have to teach us the parseltongue when we're down there." He nods once and then begins his vocal aerobics. Everyone watches, transfixed as the sink falls away. In silence, one by one, we descend.

After the initial excitement and party atmosphere dies down Benson and Zalvidar set to work widening the opening in the rock fall. Marisa really is a powerhouse of strength, Emery may be stocky but that's more to do with a love of roast potatoes than anything else. Either way, together they get the job done, their round faces glowing in the light from their wands as they heave to. Meanwhile Vincent teaches us the rough sounds and we practice on the inner door, where the emerald eyes of Slytherin's snakes glint mockingly at our inarticulate efforts.

There's electricity in the air, we all feel it, and none of us are interested in going to bed. Our initial efforts are completed by nine thirty and we decide to crack on. Yvonne Chadwick, a small seventh year Slytherin girl with masses of black curls that poorly disguise a bony frame, begins casting undetectable extension charms on the three bags that happened to be brought down, the charm enlarges the area within the bag, while the bag itself remains exactly the same size. Hermione Granger famously used it when traveling around with Potter twenty years ago. After this, John Faraway, Tony Cartwright, and Grace Walters head out to secure equipment.

While they're gone the fourth years, Emery, Alexis, and Marisa, begin transfiguring rocks into torches and torch brackets and securing them to the rough walls of the corridor of secrets. I join in with this for a little while, and we soon get into competition regarding the ornateness of our creations. Alexis beat all of us when she transfigured a matching pair that resembled the intertwined snakes on the inner door, down to their glistening eyes and curved, sardonic mouths.

Heading into the Chamber itself I find the two youngest members of the team, Billy Kellermann and Vincent, practicing levitation spells on loose rocks. Kellermann is a quiet third year kid, small and skinny, he communicates in nods and shakes of his long face, and plays Seeker on the Slytherin team. On the pitch and off it he specialises in not being noticed, a skill he's learnt to use to his advantage.

Vincent has his face screwed up in concentration, _Wingardium Leviosa!_ He says, swishing his wand and flicking the tip towards the rock in front of them. The rock moves off the ground and hovers a foot in the air. He jerks his wand up a bit and the rock falls to the ground with a hollow bang that echoes around the chamber. Kellermann shakes his head, mutters the spell and guides the rock through the air with fluid movements coming from his wrist and extending along to his wand tip. He guides the rock to the floor, then points to Vincent's wrist, grabs hold of it, gives it a shake, then points at the rock. Vincent tries again. I can see from here that this is a spell Vincent will have to work at, fluidity of movement doesn't exactly come naturally to him, unlike Kellermann who's almost fey-like in his movements.

Amusedly I imagine what their Animagus forms would be, a game I play at times when I try to identify a person's animal identity. Kellermann becomes a magpie in my eyes, delicate, small, clever, and drawn to small shiny things - like Snitches. Frowning I try to imagine what Vincent would become, and that's harder. While I'm staring at him trying to figure him out he looks up and locks eyes with me, I shudder and walk back out into the corridor where I walk straight into John, Grace, and Tony.

"Hi, Boss." John says with an amused smile. "We got some loot. A couple of disused classrooms and a very dusty store cupboard have had their contents liberated." John is another tall Quidditch player type, he plays Beater for Gryffindor alongside Ralph Andrews and is easily distinguishable owing to his shock of red hair that grows in a tight afro if it's allowed any length. At the moment it's a modest inch and a half of red fuzz, but I've seen it at six inches before and at that point he starts storing things in it. They all put their bags down on the stone floor in the green light and we hear the sounds of multiple hollow metal objects rolling around distantly.

We get going setting things up. By the looks of things they've stripped an entire Potions classroom completely. Grace Walters pulls miniature trestle tables out of her bag and one by one returns them to their normal size, John and Tony do the same with cauldrons of various sizes and materials and I direct, determining the layout.

"Tony," I say after a while, "have you got any idea what your Quidditch training schedule is like yet?"

"I'm working on it." He replies, heaving an enormous cauldron of thick steel into place. Mentally I earmark that one for Wideye Potion come exam time. "You'll get a timetable when I've worked it out."

"Good. And can you try not to recruit anymore Deathlings to your team please, whenever you're practicing we're massively compromised." At that moment Vincent wanders past hovering his rock in front of him. "Vincent, you're not thinking of trying for the Quidditch team are you?" At that Vincent's rock falls to the ground with a deafening crack and he stares at me with what appears to be a mixture of incredulity and anger. After several seconds he turns and stalks out of the Chamber. "I'll take that as a 'no' then." I say with a sigh.

"I revise my previous statement." Tony says coming to stand by my side and folding his arms, "The odds had better be in his favour, because people rarely favour the odd."

We work until about two in the morning and then head for our dormitories. No one had seen Vincent since he stormed off and we eventually find him in the corridor of secrets at the bottom of the entrance pipeline, curled up and fast asleep.

"After tonight we keep our hours regular as much as possible, he's been out of bed two nights running and first years can be quick to report stuff like that." I whisper to general nods. Tony walks forwards and picks him up without waking him. It's at moments like this that I see how small Vincent really is, he's almost wraith-like and I frown remembering his ability to remain silent. In my over-taxed mind it suddenly occurs to me that he's not here at all, but just a figment of my imagination.

"I'll get him into bed." Tony says. Well, if he only exists in my head then Tony and the others are doing well at keeping up the illusion. I shake myself and we set about working out an exit strategy. "I only hope Peeves isn't around."

"Or Myrtle." I say with a grimace.

Luckily neither of them are. We head out of the bathroom in twos and threes and leave in four groups. Emery and I hurry along trying hard not to make any noise, but it's difficult, the castle is so silent it's oppressive. After a few minutes I take my shoes off and go on in socks, which helps. Suits of armour shift creakily as our wand-light passes, and the subjects of paintings frown in their sleep, angling themselves away from the beam. The eyes of students' cats appear ahead and some slink past, disapproving of our presence. In the night-time the castle belongs to them.


	19. Chapter 18

I'm sitting in the Slytherin common room under one of the large windows watching a Grindylow construct an elaborate net out of long reeds. My leg is stretched out in front of me resting on a footstool, another souvenir from flying class. Every week, I have managed to break a bone and today I outdid myself by twisting my leg on impact to such a degree that it cracked the bone lengthways, and Madam Griffiths actually admitted that she'd never encountered a student more inept than myself. There's no one else here yet because class has only just finished, and I am reclining lethargically watching the water demon do his work. I'm wondering what he might be planning on catching, because the net is really quite big, and he's been working on it for a few days now. I first took notice of his efforts on Sunday, when I had been sitting in this exact spot reading _The Potioneer's Ingredient Index_, a book I found in the library last week and brought out for light reading. The creature seems to be aware of my attention because he keeps looking towards our window, throwing wicked smiles over his green-gray filmy shoulders, while his large webbed hands work at the reeds with surprising dexterity.

I'm just squinting through the green gloom of the lake, trying to make out the intended shape of the net, when Scorpius and Hector appear.

"Feeling better Vince?" Blaise says, grabbing the end of my foot and giving it a shake. I wince through the dull ache and grimace. "That really was a spectacular fall, far better than last weeks." He continues in his analysis, "less flapping of the arms and the tiniest hint of a summersault."

"Thanks, I'll try and perfect that move next time." I say.

"What was the damage? It had to be bad, I've never heard a scream like it."

"Split bone." His face screws up at this.

"Sorry, mate." We'd been doing an exercise where we'd been trying to gain confidence by gaining height, this was never going to work for me and I'd proved it.

"There must be something you can take to cure you of phobias." Malfoy interjected. He's sitting in the chair opposite, lazily flicking through an abandoned copy of yesterday's Daily Prophet.

"There isn't, I've looked." I hadn't looked, but I had referred to everyone in the operation and no one knew of anything.

"That's a shame." He said, "whoever invents it will earn themselves tons of gold. My mother hates spiders and screams like a banshee whenever one comes near her, I'd force the stuff down her throat if it would make her shut up." He's in one of his charmingly dejected moods.

"I was thinking of putting one together." I say, casually. Malfoy's eyes flick upwards to mine and Blaise laughs.

"I know you're good at potions mate, but stick to brewing what you know for now. Inventors always end up brutally disfigured or worse." He says.

"Brutally disfigured, and rich." I say, reaching for the _Ingredient Index_.

"How would you go about doing it?" Malfoy asks, folding up his paper. He's interested and this amuses me so I figure I'll go along with it.

"Work out what combinations would counter certain behaviours and effects and then start experimenting. It might be that it would take different combinations to counter different phobias." While I'm saying this, Ferne Arden wanders over and sinks into the chair next to mine.

"How's the leg?" She asks casually.

"It will be fine." I say stiffly.

"You flew really well today, Scorpius." She says, turning her attention to Malfoy. He looks taken aback, and then reaches up and runs his fingers through his windswept hair somewhat self-consciously. I look in the direction of Hector and see that he's grinning and smile back.

"We were just discussing the possibility of inventing a potion that would cure Vincent's phobia." Hector says, and Ferne turns her over-large eyes in our direction once more.

"Good idea." She says.

"You don't think it's risky?" Malfoy asks, folding the paper and dropping it back onto the table in the middle of our cluster of chairs.

"Well he is the potions genius." She says, "for heaven's sake don't break your neck next week, or I'll fail potions altogether!"

"Thanks." I say, and then ask where Bentley is by way of changing the subject.

"With McLaggen." Malfoy says, lacing his fingers delicately.

"He's still not told his parents that he didn't get into Gryffindor, has he?" I ask.

"Well he doesn't want to ruin Christmas at the Highland House." Ferne says sarcastically. We all look at her in surprise. "They sit right behind me in Defense Against the Dark Arts and they never shut up about all that hunting, shooting and fishing sh*t."

"I'm not interested in Bentley." Malfoy states in a bored drawl, "I'm interested in your potion idea."

"Why?" I ask, amazed, "what's it got to do with you?"

"Well if I decide to invest in your idea, it could benefit both of us." He says smoothly. "I fund the sourcing of ingredients and provide useful marketing contacts, while you make the potion."

"He sounds like he's swallowed a business manual." Blaise scoffs, crossing to the window, "what contacts do you have in the world of marketing anyway?"

"None." Says Malfoy, simply. "But my father has many."

There's quiet for a little while and I ponder this suggestion. It has never occurred to me to do business legally before, I'd always assumed that when it came to potions my involvement would always have to be under the radar. I had thought about concocting this draught as part of the organisation's efforts, but I don't see why I'd have to abandon that idea in light of this new one. Far better to do both and then all areas are covered. I have to go to the Chamber tonight after dinner, the Felix has been brewing for two weeks almost exactly and at seven forty-three we must add a pint of butterscotch. It wouldn't normally be so much, but we're brewing a vat and so all quantities are multiplied. After that I'll add powdered starthistle to the Kuku, which is a bit more forgiving on the timing front, and then head back here. I have to complete a section of my star chart for Astronomy, and I also have to dedicate myself to spending casual time in the common room, otherwise people start to get suspicious. I'll think about Malfoy's offer and see if I can chat to him about it alone later, it's an intriguing idea.

We talk for another hour. Presently Blaise heads along to our dormitory and brings out his Wizard Chess set. The pieces are opal inlaid ivory and jet encrusted ebony, he apparently inherited it from his grandmother who had been given it by her third husband.

"Don't you worry that someone might steal it?" Ferne asks in awe.

"They'd better not, it's riddled with curses, something about the opals." He replies casually, and he and Ferne start to play. Ferne takes the black pieces so that she can avoid the opals, and me and Malfoy watch lazily. It turns out that Ferne is a very good chess player, and the opal set take a real beating. On our way up to dinner Blaise waits until Ferne has walked ahead with Monica Johnson and then says, "Of course I let her win. It's the gentlemanly thing to do."

"I think it's custom isn't it?" Malfoy agrees, with a pale smirk, "to let a woman win the first game she plays against you on your own board?"

"Absolutely." He replies, rubbing his long fingers over his high brow.

"So you'll be playing at full strength during the re-match after dinner?" Malfoy asks, smoothly.

"I, what?" Blaise stammers, and we both laugh.

After dinner I retrace my steps to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, which is empty as everyone knows the password and there's no reason for them to wait. The ride to the bottom of the tunnel seems to take no time at all now I know what's waiting for me. Astrid put a charm on the transfigured torch brackets so that as soon as I land they flare into life, illuminating the passage ahead, and I trot forwards happily content a mile below the castle. The Chamber itself is reasonably busy. I walk through the many-coloured vapours until I reach the Basilisk, which I have named Tom, after its' and our parents' master. Tom gazes at me out of those empty sockets and I grin as I peer into the Kuku cauldron. The liquid is a deep clear blue, that sparkles throughout its depths. Really, if I had the luxury of time, I'd want to leave it another five hours before adding the starthistle, as that would make the colours in the visions pop with more clarity, but necessity dictates. I take a deep breath, inhaling some of the raw fumes, and my head spins pleasantly.

"Vincent!" I hear Astrid calling through the fumes, and turn dizzily to squint in the vague direction of the Felix vat, "Get over here, it's nearly time."

I sail through the warm air until I bump into a group of people staring intently at a solid gold cauldron, in which a potion turns from blue to green to purple to pink, and through all the colours of the rainbow.

"Quid Tempore." Astrid says, and the golden clock appears, hovering above the mixture. It's seven forty-two. She stands on the opposite side of the cauldron, poised ready with an exactly measured pint of butterscotch. As the clock ticks over she tips the measuring jug and a thin, gloopy, stream falls into the bubbling potion, just as the liquid turns yellow. It's important that nothing disturb the surface at this time and we all hold our breath as the butterscotch settles at the bottom. Slowly but surely the yellow deepens to a clear gold that will thicken over the next five months. We all breath again, and Marisa Zalvidar whoops.

"Well done everybody." Astrid says with a relieved smile, "I'll write to James and tell him he can start taking orders." I glance around and realise that everyone's beginning to smile lazily as they inhale the newly enlivened vapour. Astrid snaps her fingers with a light laugh and everyone recovers themselves. "To work, now."

As I head back to Tom I pass Yvonne Chadwick and her small pewter cauldron of Ghost Walker. I've taken this stuff once, and I intend never to repeat the experience. Basically what happens is that you are sent into forced astral projection, you know, when your spirit leaves your body. So you take this potion and then you can leave yourself sleeping and bugger off for a bit and be a ghost. It's creepy and kind of hard to see why anyone would want that sort of thing, but apparently Haggard has some contacts high up in politics who have made use of it, and he's got some regular demand from Ministry officials. I shudder as I see Yvonne crooning over the the opaque black solution while dicing sloth brains. The final stages are upon her and she'll soon be bottling it and sending it out. I dread to think where it will end up.

Everyone here has a favourite brew. Astrid is a good all-rounder, she'll go where she's needed, but Felix is her particular baby. Good job too because it's a bitch to bring round. I'm good at Pollyjuice, Wideye Potion, Sleep Euphoria, and Draught of Peace, though Kuku is where I'm developing things at the moment. It's a nicely malleable draught where I can stretch myself and work the visions into more elaborate combinations. Sleep Euphoria is not dissimilar, Billy Kellermann's on that one at the moment, but he's not here. The brew is resting for thirty-six hours and he's probably in the library. He's an odd kid, even by my standards. He isn't passionate about potions, he likes charms best, so he's here as little as possible and the rest of the time he spends practicing his wand work.

I look around the Chamber and breath happily as I unscrew the jar of starthistle, this will be a good vintage - I can tell.


	20. Chapter 19

It's Tuesday morning and I'm dragging my tired self into the Great Hall for breakfast under a clear ice-blue sky. Professor Weasley set us this incredibly complex essay on the theory behind non-verbal spells last week. It kept me up in Ravenclaw Tower until far past midnight, by which time the Gray Lady was circling the common room reciting the Spellman's Syllabary in a dreamy sing-song voice. I sink into the seat opposite Eva and grab the nearest tea pot.

"Post's due." She says before taking a delicate bite from a slice of toast. "Expecting anything from your mystery man?"

"Maybe." I say with a grin. James had kept up a steady stream of post since we'd gone into production and my secretive manner confirmed to both Eva and Beth that I had a boyfriend outside Hogwarts.

"Did you get Weasley's essay done?" She asks casually.

"Just." I reply as a rustling sound overhead announces the arrival of the post owls. "You?" She nods, while scanning the incoming birds for one from the Daily Prophet. I've just started on a steaming bowl of porridge when Jasper lands on my shoulder, squeezing his claws painfully. I untie James's letter, bribing Jasper with an end bit of sausage, as Eva pays for her Daily Prophet. We unfurl our post together and begin to read.

_Dear Astrid_

_Writing to confirm arrival of the last orders, and to say that the Kuku was exceptional. You told me you've got your kid on that one at the moment? Well I'd advise you let him train someone else in his method and then move him onto something more challenging. He's a genius. _

_Also, if you don't have any other plans, and if you can delegate to someone over Christmas, why not come and stay with me? It would be good to get you out of the castle for a bit and, well, I miss your face. _

_Give me your answer ASAP. _

_JCH_

I re-read the end passage with butterflies in my stomach. James has invited me for Christmas. What does this mean? Considering our relationship so far it could mean anything, the tone was business-like up until the question, which gave me far more choice than I'd usually be allowed... _I miss your face..._ _Give me your answer as soon as possible..._ Is he nervous? No. He just wants to make the necessary arrangements. Surely. "Ouch!"

I'm distracted by a spiteful nip to my ear from Jasper and I realise he wants the rest of the sausage. Sighing I fold up the letter and dedicate some attention to the demanding owl. With some difficulty I transfer him from my shoulder to my knee and feed him pieces from the table while stroking his feathers and tickling his neck. "Anything truly terrible happening in the world?" I ask.

"Huxley's on the warpath. Says Shacklebolt's been letting the Ministry slip into a policy rut for years, which is sort of true but I can't see how it will change anything. Shacklebolt's a war hero and steady, whereas Huxley is a bit of an Ideologue, and in the end people want what they know." She turns a page absent mindedly before folding the paper and sliding it into her school bag. "Did you see Augustin's notice?"

I glance nervously towards the staff table where Weasley and Augustin are having an animated discussion in what appears to be rapid French. "No, why? Anything important?"

"We've got our careers appointments throughout the next two weeks." She says in an offhand manner, taking her diary out and referring to it. "You're twelve o'clock on Wednesday, I'm at three on the same day, and Beth's is at five o'clock on Friday."

I groan. It's perhaps unsurprising that I don't consider myself to have much chance at an honest career once I've left school, and Augustin will waste no time in confirming that suspicion. "Where is Beth anyway?" I ask, glancing automatically towards the Gryffindor table and seeing her seated next to Ralph, his arms wrapped tightly around her. Eva clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

"It'll be a miracle if she passes OWL year at this rate."

We get up to leave, and Jasper silently takes to the wing. We have Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors next and as we head towards the entrance hall Vincent stomps past without looking at us.

"Is everything alright between you two?" Eva asks, with a frown.

"Oh yes," I say, "If he has something to say to me he does, otherwise I leave him to himself. I think it's better for him. He was getting cocky and I don't want him to think that I care _too_ much." Eva laughs at this.

"If you don't have a mystery boyfriend, then you really should get one. Over-thinking your relationship with a first year is unhealthy."

"I'm an Orphan, all of my relationships are unhealthy." With a twang of nervous suspense I think of James's letter. Would I term our relationship unhealthy? He has guided me and helped me throughout my Hogwarts life, and if that help didn't centre on activities of a criminal kind it could only be seen as positive. But then what makes a relationship unhealthy? Surely when one or both parties are encouraged or forced to action that is negative in some way. I can't think of James like that, he's like a brother to me. And then I shudder. A brother? No, not a brother, because I'm attracted to him and I don't want to open that particular can of weird. I always have been attracted to James, he's always been a source of comfort and inspiration and somehow the one person I could peg my hopes on. Maybe that is a little too much emotional emphasis for one person to be burdened with, but, I think angrily as we head towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, as an Orphan I don't have too many people to attach emotions to, so unlike some others, I have to make do with what I've got.

We head for our seats and the classroom slowly begins to fill up. Beth and Ralph sit together, and Beth turns around in her seat to talk to us, nattering about the essay and then the forthcoming careers interviews. After a few minutes Professor Weasley enters the classroom and glides gracefully to the front. She's a startlingly beautiful woman who must be approaching middle-age because she was already grown and married during the Battle of Hogwarts, but her appearance does not give anything away. Her hair, which is silvery-blonde is often worn twisted into a knot at the back of her head, like a ballerina, and apart from some delicate crows-feet and slight smile lines, she is wrinkle-free. As soon as she enters the room the boys fall silent and stare attentively, it's well known that Professor Weasley is quarter Veela, and Beth, sensing the change, twists around in her seat as silence falls.

"Good morning class." Professor Weasley begins with a smile, "I will collect your essays first, and zen for ze rest of ze lesson we will be practicing our silent spell-work." She gives her wand a delicate twist and nineteen roles of parchment fly through the air and stack themselves neatly on her desk. "Ze silent spell is important, non, _vital_ to your success in your examinations. Zere is no use learning 'ow to say defensive spells out loud only. Zis gives away your purpose and can detract from your intended outcome. T'ought alone should be enough to carry out ze result. You will please stand."

We all scramble to our feet while she gives her wand another delicate twist that sends the desks to the back of the classroom where they stack themselves neatly. When this is done she performs another silent command and ten life-size wooden figures march through a side door and array themselves before us.

"Two people to each figure. You will take it in turns to jinx your opponent silently. Try whatever spell feels right for you, zis is a very personal ting, once you 'ave mastered ze technique wit' your favourite spell, ot'ers less obvious will come naturally. Begin."

The class is silent for a while, which is eerie, and then those waiting to try start talking to their neighbours and eventually a babble of talk breaks out that feels much more natural for a practical lesson. Professor Weasley drifts around watching and commenting, she doesn't mind the noise as long as she can see good work being done. I happen to be very good at non-verbal spells, having worked at them since first year. The first time I managed one was six months in, when Peeves started pelting me with ink pellets while I was trying to listen to instructions from James on the Transfiguration corridor. I instinctively produced a Shield Charm without uttering a word and I've been practicing ever since. Incidentally James was so taken aback by this premature ability that he took far more notice of me from that moment on, and that chance inspiration is probably the reason that I find myself in a managerial role now.

Eva has a little more difficulty, but she learns quickly. She's the kind of person who masters the theory first and the practical follows, I'm the opposite. I find myself doing things and it's only later that I work out why I'm doing them. While she's working at a silent disarming spell, Professor Weasley pauses to watch.

"Well done, Miss Selby, you are much improved. I look forward to reading your essay. Miss Langstrom per'aps you might demonstrate for me?" I step forward and turn towards the blank wooden figure. Smiling to myself I think the word _aparecium_ and flick my wand three times. Slowly, from the point where my spell was directed, lines of graffiti become visible carved across the wood and in places burned into the grain. Lines like: _Freedom for House Elves, Rose & Liam 4 eva, _and _Charlie loves cock_, make themselves visible, along with the slogan _the Dark Lord lives on_, which is followed with a lengthy discussion that dissolves into a slanging match somewhere near the abdomen.

"Very good, Miss Langstrom, t'ough per'aps we should cover zat up now?" I nod and think _obliterate_, and the markings vanish from view. "Twenty points to Ravenclaw for zat outstanding display. You 'ave been working 'ard I can see, and not just for me I t'ink." With that she turns to Eva and says, "Try _Orbis_." before moving on.

Eva turns to me and grins, "She likes you. Twenty points! That's really something for Ravenclaw right now, and we've got Potions next, you'll be responsible for our lead by tonight I'll bet you."

"Yer?" I smile, "how much?"

"A galleon?"

"Done. Now, if you can just master this by the end of class you might be the author of our success."

"How much would you bet on that?" She asks, lining herself up with the figure.

"A sickle?" I say with a grin. She prods me hard in the ribs.

"What was it she said? Oh yes, Orbis." With a look of sudden concentration she pauses and then directs her wand downwards in a sharp line. Nothing happens. She tries again, and the figure wobbles. I hold my breath, I know she's nearly got it. All of a sudden our wooden figure crashes to the ground face first and remains as if glued to the floor. The whole class falls silent and Professor Weasley claps her hands delightedly.

"Ah! Well done Miss Selby, take anozer twenty points!"


End file.
